


You, Through Worlds

by isuilde, teletou



Category: Free!
Genre: (a very fleeting) major character death???, Alternate Reality, Alternate Universe, M/M, Major Character Injury, sprinkles of SouHaru and HaruAki and SeiGou
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-07-22
Updated: 2016-07-22
Packaged: 2018-07-18 19:58:17
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 24,942
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/7328404
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/isuilde/pseuds/isuilde, https://archiveofourown.org/users/teletou/pseuds/teletou
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>"Makoto finds himself looking at memories he doesn't find familiar: bright yellow hats and clasped hands, a row of potted tulips, their names scribbled in crayon, messy scrawls of hiragana. His fingers skitter across the glossy plastic as he tries to remember the moments pictured. He stops at a picture of Rin, a part of his fringe near the middle cut really short, crying as he tries to cover his forehead.</p><p>"Ah, yeah. Some kid put gum in my hair, Haru tried to fix it. Remember?"</p><p>He doesn't.</p><p>He doesn't know <i>why</i>, when he obviously should. Every photo a new story, instead of a warm hum of nostalgia."</p><p> </p><p>One moment, Makoto thinks he fell into his own memories. That doesn't feel quite right, though. Familiar, an echo of past experiences–– but not really. Another moment, he's somewhere entirely new. </p><p>aka Confused and Sleepy Makoto: The Fic. Things happen, Makoto is confused. Things get explained, Makoto is still confused-- wait isn't this a part of another fic.</p>
            </blockquote>





	You, Through Worlds

**Author's Note:**

> Last year, we wrote this together for Comic Frontier 4. It's been a  
> year since then so we decided to archive it up on AO3.
> 
>  _isuilde:_ This is where my usual "We're very sorry, we didn't expect it to turn out so long orz" goes. I'm sorry.
> 
>  _teletou:_ shrugs into the moonlight isuhal long fic went out of control grass is green the sky is blue water is wet. I really really hope you guys like this new monster baby though awawawawa

  


_November 16th_

 

The best thing about living in Nippori is, Makoto supposes, that he doesn't have to deal with the rush hour crowd of Shinjuku every single day. Not when his university is twenty minutes away―six minutes by train and  fourteen minutes by foot.

fourteen minutes by foot. To be fair, after a very long day of volunteering to guide twenty-five rowdy kids through the university grounds for an educational program, Makoto is not looking forward at all to the fourteen-minute walk. Maybe it's why he stops for a moment just after he steps out of the train car, blinking at the nonplussed commuters around him, moving in perfect rhythm as the speakers overhead blare out announcements that the train would leave, and that another train is coming down on the other line.

Somebody bumps him to the side, and Makoto almost loses his balance before his feet shuffle to catch himself, tumbling sideways, and the girl who bumps into him looks up, spares him a glance, and leaves with a mumbled, "sorry."

An ordinarily busy day.

Makoto fishes out his cell phone as he walks towards the stairs, watches as four digits of number blinking up at him: 20.57. The next train on Toden Arakawa line leaves in five minutes, which means he has enough time to change platform and catch it, if he doesn't want to deal with the fourteen-minute walk back to his apartment. But catching the second train also means another 140 yen out of his pocket, and he could buy a small pack of eggs with those.

 _Choices, choices,_ Makoto muses as he starts going down the stairs, half-distracted by the incoming message from the twins asking if he'd be home by midnight because "it's Oniichan's birthday can we call can we can we pretty please Oniichan?" and there's another one from Haruka asking if he wants anything from China for his birthday, and yet another from Rin, a simple question of when Makoto would arrive home.

The tip of his thumb glides over the screen and a reply box pops up, and Makoto types in: _hey, I'm almost home, text you later?_ and lets his finger hover on the send button for a second.

Someone bumps him from the side, another from behind. The rush hour is worse today―probably because it's Friday. An old lady staggers and bumps against his right side when a drunk businessman shoves his way through the throngs of people on the stairs. Makoto tilts forward. _Huh,_ he thinks. _Oh―_

Echoing off the brick walls is the steady, slow voice of the station announcer: "Soon, the train on the twelfth platform will depart. Please stay behind the yellow line―"

 

**\-----o0o-----**

 

_"―because it is dangerous. The next stop is Higashi-Juujo."_

"Oh," is his first thought, mumbled through bouts of sleepiness. Then, "Missed the train..." He distantly watches the train as it leaves, carrying its passengers a little closer to their homes with each stop.

 _I'd love to be home right now._ It's a little weird, though. He remembers being a whole lot more tired than this. The stiffness in his shoulders all but gone, and he could barely even feel the burn in his calves. Maybe that little nap actually helped. Neat. He should look into sleeping on station benches more.

Makoto thinks his fatigue ran away from his body to his brain and made him think nonsense instead.

He yawns, tries to move his arm so he could cover his mouth with a hand, finds that he wouldn't. Dimly, he registers a weight leaning against it. Red hair splays across his shoulder, over the dark grey of his wool coat. Rin is huddled next to him, asleep, and Makoto, with a confused smile, almost serenely, with deliberately slow movements, raises his free hand, pinches his own cheek, and pulls.

Okay, not some sort of post-nap hallucination.

 _Wasn't Rin supposed to arrive until after Christmas?_ Makoto remembers the late night Skype phone call, Rin looking like he was going to pass out and slam his head on to his laptop keyboard.

 _"Training season,"_ Rin had mumbled, barely coherent.

 _"Ah,"_ Makoto smiled with sympathy, hugging his pillow closer to his chest. _"Keep at it."_

Ass o'clock at night, or so Rin had eloquently put, was the only time they could slot their schedules together for a call. It was a struggle, keeping up a conversation when they're both visibly tired, but he remembers there was definitely a promise to go for _hatsumode_ together. That would definitely mean after Christmas. Rin couldn't really afford to take month long holidays.  
  
His mind isn't the most reliable right now, though. He just got home from a gruelling day of―  
  
― _huh._  
  
_What did he do today again?_  
  
Makoto furrows his brows, tries hard to recall the events of the day, draws a blank. He must be a lot more tired than he thought.  
  
He looks down at Rin, at his breath puffing white, the slow, rhythmic rise of his chest with each inhale. His nose is red, Makoto notes. _Cute._  
  
_The next train should arrive in a few minutes._ Makoto sighs, ragged. He should wake Rin up. He's sure Rin would rather sleep in his spare futon than spend the night here before getting ultimately kicked out by the stationmaster. Reaching a hand out, he hesitates, a slightest flinch of his fingers. Rin's hair is soft on his skin, and when Makoto brushes them away, his nose twitches from the disturbance.  
  
_He just forgot about an earlier visit, is all._

  
**\-----o0o-----**

_November 17th_

  
  
"Rin was the first one to help," Haruka says in way of greeting when he opened the door for Makoto.  
  
_"Uh?"_ because he's sure that doesn't explain anything. _Did I miss something?_  
  
"Oh, bugger off, I was just in the neighbourhood!" Rin shouts from Haruka's low table. He leans forward so he could be seen from behind the kitchenette wall and grins. "Happy birthday, Makoto!"  
  
"Thank you?" He's honestly still lost somewhere at 'the first one to help'. He thought the plan for tonight was to couch out with Haruka playing video games, but he smells something really delicious cooking in the kitchen. Makoto is not one to decline food, but...  
  
Haruka snorts, adjusting the ties of his apron, walking back to the stove. "You're staying with your relatives. They live in another town."  
  
"Like I said, in the neighbourhood." An audible crunch as Rin snaps a senbei with his teeth. "They're still in the Greater Tokyo Area."  
  
"You do realise that's like three prefectures."  
  
"Bah." Rin pauses, takes a moment to swallow. "Details."  
  
"You were fretting about _decorations_ earlier."  
  
"Umm..." Makoto gives the limp streamers strewn about Haruka's living area a cursory glance. He appreciates the effort, really, but it's clear that Rin didn't allow Haruka to help at all. "Haru, are you cooking something big? You really don't have to..."  
  
Makoto flinches, he thinks he might even have squeaked, when Haruka stares him down, eyes dangerously squinted. _'What are you talking abo_ ut,' the displeased wrinkle on his nose says. _'It's your birthday, we planned for this.'_  
  
"Oh." He laughs, hesitant, sheepish. "I guess you're right. Thank you, Haru-chan."  
  
"Now, if the birthday boy finally stopped being silly," rustling plastic, clinking glass, Rin proudly holds up a four pack in front of him. He has a colourful party hat on now―Makoto notices―artistically worn at an angle. "Let's start drinking before the others arrive!"  
  
" _Riiiin!_ "

  
**\-----o0o-----**

_November 18th_

  
  
"Haru? Are you making scrambled eggs?" Makoto mutters sleepily into his pillow, nuzzling into the soft fabric to wipe away drool. "You already did so much last night."  
  
"Don't pretend that he doesn't make you breakfast all the time anyway," comes Rin's muffled reply from somewhere behind him. There's a soft _fhwump_ and then a short gust of air from what Makoto guesses is Rin trying to hold his head up, only to face plant back onto the pillow. His next words are barely intelligible, almost completely drowned out by the soft cushioned abyss. "I bet he just gives you a month's worth to reheat every morning."  
  
"Eheheh."  
  
"Don't try to be cute," Makoto hears a dull thud somewhere a good feet away from him. Rin probably tried to smack him.  
  
"You're both spoiled," Haruka says, setting what feels like a plate on Makoto's head. "Rin has no excuse he can cook."  
  
"I'm fucking sloshed give me a break." Any longer buried in that pillow, Makoto thinks he should be worried, what if Rin suffocates _oh my god―_ Rin gasps, makes a show of heaving as he inhales a sharp draw of breath. "I thought I was gonna die."  
  
Haru offers no sympathy, kicks where he thinks might be Rin's thigh with no remorse. "Your own fault. Now move so I can set the low table. I don't want you guys eating on the futon."  
  
"Yes, mum," Rin drawls, a smirk playing on his lips.  
  
"I will drop this egg on your head."  
  
"You wouldn't dare."  
  
Haruka, in slow, deliberate motions, takes the spoon on the plate and scoops a piece, then pointedly extends his arm outwards, as if making a threat. Rin, for his part, decides that it's a good idea to respond by rolling onto his back and opening his mouth in a silent challenge.  
  
"Guys, no, that is gross―" Makoto wrinkles his nose, when he sees the fluffy yellow breakfast free fall from the spoon and into Rin's mouth. " _Ew._ "  
  
"Good _fuck! Haru!"_ Rin nearly spat out in disgust, curling himself into a ball on his side. "Is that fucking _green peppers?!_ What did I ever do to you?!"  
  
Haruka makes a strange choked noise that sounds like an aborted laugh, before schooling his expression back to blank lizard stare. He shrugs, and turns away to walk back to the kitchenette.  
  
"Oh god, I'm choking." Rin makes a show of coughing. Or at least, Makoto thinks he's faking. "I need air. Makoto, please share your air with me."  
  
Makoto freezes, his whole body locking into place, knuckles white from gripping the futon under him. " _Rin?!_ "  
  
He hears Rin hum as he sets the plate on Makoto's head aside, stainless steel utensils clinking against ceramic as they're placed on the floor. A cold draft seeps through his shirt, when Rin pulls up the covers, sidling next to him, resting his head on his pillow, face close― _so close―_ barely a few centimetres away, and getting closer still. Makoto wants to squeeze his eyes shut, curl into a ball and cradle his furiously beating heart, hold his hands tight to his chest and hope he finds in him to _breathe―_  
  
" _Makoto._ "  
  
Under the dark warmth of flannel blankets, a whisper of Rin's lips on his, Makoto's breath hitches, the smallest of a gasp drowned by soft touch.

 

**\-----o0o-----**

 

 _The lights hurt his eyes._  
  
_Maybe it's his imagination. Haruka presses the heels of his hands against his eyes, hard, willing the stinging sensation away. For a moment, he feels like he's lost his footings completely, like he isn't sure where he is, what he's going to do, what's going to happen. He takes a deep breath, shuddering, and doesn't quite manage to suppress the next five shorter, panicked breaths._  
  
_No, he has to keep himself together. Gou has been the only one taking care of everything for two days before any of Makoto's family could fly to Tokyo, before Haruka could even come back to Japan earlier this evening, along with Rei and Nagisa who's been visiting Rei in England; she needs the rest, and besides--_  
  
_"Haruka-senpai."_  
  
_He didn't even hear the door open. Haruka presses the heels of his hands harder against his eyes, tries to get his breathing under control. It takes him a moment before he could turn to Rei, expression composed, the set of his shoulders set. "Rei."_  
  
_Rei looks at him, somber. "Rin-san is here."_  
  
― _just the one Haruka's been waiting._  
  
_"Cover for me," he tells Rei, and the younger man obediently steps into the room, clasping Haruka's shoulder briefly before settling on the chair by the bed. Haruka steps out, and even before the door closes behind him, he hears Rei's voice filter out through the tiny gap, quiet but steady: stories of London, of how different its subway lines are form Tokyo, of the London Bridge and brick-colored stonepaths, of Nagisa dragging him along the Thames._  
  
_It had been stories of China, fifteen minutes ago, when Haruka had been the one to tell it. He takes a deep breath again, back flush against the metal door. The sterile scent of antiseptic and medicine clogs his lungs, and for a second he feels sick._  
  
_He looks around, eyes searching, until they fall to the tuft of blond hair bending over red hair―Nagisa, tightly hugging an exhausted Rin who slumps on one of the waiting chairs, his backpack abandoned on the floor._  
  
_Haruka clenches his hands into fists and make his way towards his friends._

  
**\-----o0o-----**

_November 19th_

  
  
He's pulling out a box from under his bed, and pauses because _what is he doing?_  
  
"Oniichan―" there's Ren's whine, ringing from somewhere outside of his room. "Have you found it yet? Come back down if you have―"  
  
"Ren is so impatient!" and that's Ran, sounding too familiar and huffy. "Oniichan will come down when he's done, so ssshhh!"  
  
Makoto turns his attention back to the box he's half-pulled out, wonders for a second what it is he's supposed to find. The box, an unassuming brown and black one, just stays right there, dust over its lids, and Makoto runs a finger on its surface, fingertip drawing faint lines in the midst of the dust.  
  
It makes a dragging noise as he pulls the rest of it from under his bed. Makoto coughs as the dust flies, tickling his nose and throat, and somewhere behind him there's a faint chuckle, amused and familiar, and Rin says, "How long has it stayed under your bed, Makoto?"  
  
"Not sure," Makoto answers, the words halting, because he doesn't remember having a box under his bed. What's inside? What is it that he keeps under the bed? He's pretty sure he doesn't have questionable magazines at home because he's too worried the twins would accidentally find them. He fingers the edge of the box almost hesitantly, trying to remember if at some point he did shove a box under his bed, but―  
  
A pair of arms come from behind, reaching towards the box in a lazy, comfortable move, and Makoto freezes for a second. Warm weight settles flush on his back, a chin on his shoulder, red strands tickling his cheek. Rin sighs into his collarbone, almost curiously, as his hands move to open the box in one smooth motion.  
  
"Ri―Rin...?"  
  
"Mmm," Rin hums lazily, pulling the lids off, and peers down. Makoto follows the line of his eyes, and blinks.  
  
There are letters. Pages and pages of them, bound together with paper clips, characters scrawled in what Makoto recognizes is Rin's handwriting. Envelopes and postcards are there, too, in various colors and photos, all stamped from different months, different years, but always the same city: Sydney. They crinkle easily under his fingertips, as he takes one of the letters and tries to smooth the edges in vain, and looks at the year.  
  
"Oh, I remember writing that one," Rin says, sounding fond and nostalgic. "Second month after the second year of middle school started. I was so pissed off at my class' representative for misunderstanding my English, remember? I think that letter was only me ranting out to you about how pissed I was."  
  
Makoto frowns at the letter, eyebrows knitting. He doesn't remember. "Huh."  
  
"Oh, and this one," Rin's hand dips into the box, fingers curling onto another one of papers bound, pulling it out almost too carefully. "I can't believe you still keep all of this. And you guys call me a romantic."  
  
"You are, though," Makoto responds automatically, latching to the one thing he's sure he knows about. Rin digs his chin harder into his shoulder, throwing him a playful glare, and Makoto plays along. "Ow."  
  
"Remember this one?" Rin brings the letter up, and Makoto wants to say no, wants to say he doesn't remember, because did Rin really send anything back when he was spending his middle school years in Australia? "I wrote them right after getting into the new middle school."  
  
Makoto scans the page: _I'm so excited for my new class_ and _it's different here, they've got a different system for the school_ and _I think I'll miss you guys, but Australian schools don't look bad either_. He tilts his head, catches the way Rin's smile soften, tinged with a bit of sadness. "I was so in over my head, back then. So confident. I think it's probably a part of why I crashed down really hard."  
  
He feels Rin's fingers sneak into his hair, a light ruffle on the top of his head, and a chuckle laces Rin's next words: "I don't know why you were the only one I sent these letter to, but I'm glad I did. It made everything easier, somehow."  
  
Makoto blinks, stares at the papers―at the dates of years long gone, at the messy scrawls of Rin's handwriting that gets neater and neater as the letters got more recent, at his names written on the envelopes and on top of the letters. He stares at them, hard, and remembers Kisumi and Sousuke both, remembers them telling Haruka about Rin's letter from Australia, remembers him chasing them, eyes hopeful but heart too scared to even hope as he asked _did Rin say anything else―?_  
  
Something in his heart, confused and fearful, whispers, _whose memories are these?_  
  
"Hey, Makoto," Rin murmurs, lips too close to his ears, and Makoto suppresses a shiver. "Thank you for being there."  
  
_Did I?_ , Makoto thinks, breath catching in his throat as Rin's weight brings him down to the floor, as Rin's legs settle on both sides of his hips. _Was I there_ , he wonders, and Rin leans down, their foreheads pressing lightly, and he breathes in the words as Rin says, _"I love you."_  
  
Makoto's eyes widen almost impossibly.  
  
Rin closes the gap and drops a light kiss on the top of Makoto's nose, his chuckle rings in the air as Makoto scrunches up his face, but it's quickly forgotten when Rin grinds his hips down. Something in Makoto's head _rings_ , heat curling down low in his stomach, breath stuttering in his throat, and answering lust overwhelming him for one second―  
  
"Oh―"  
  
_"―starting to wonder if he could hear us at all―"_  
  
"Huh?" He blinks, the haze of pleasure interrupted for a moment, and Rin pauses, looking back at him questioningly. Makoto stares back, words slipping out in an unsure tone, "Did you say something?"  
  
"No, I didn't," Rin frowns, but then his face breaks into a smirk, one that accompanies his hand trailing down the side of Makoto's hip, fingers alighting sparks on his skin along the way. "What, am I no longer distracting enough for you, Makoto?"  
  
"No―oh," the syllable stutters, interrupted by a groan ripped out of his throat by Rin's teeth grazing the line of his collarbone. He scrabbles at Rin's shirt, unable to decide where he should put his hands, and feels Rin's own slip under his shirt, cold fingers dancing across his stomach.  
  
"The door―" he manages to gasp out, before his brain gets short-circuited by Rin's hips pressing down against his own, sliding sensuously as his fingers climb up, up, up, tugging Makoto's shirt as he goes. Rin etches his laughter against Makoto's skin, leaves a trail of kisses along the line of his jaw, his breath heavy in Makoto's ear as he settles there, teeth grazing gently, his words hot and oh-so-tempting.  
  
"Gotta be fast before the twins get too impatient."  
  
Makoto swallows, and closes his eyes in surrender.  
  
_"―it's just so unfair!"_

  
**\------o0o------**

  
“ _Makoto...?”_  
  
“ _Makoto―”_  
  
“Makoto!”  
  
_What was he going to do...?_ He looks up from his rice bowl, blinks twice, and frantically tries to grip his chopsticks before they slide off his fingers. His mother has her hands on her hips, frowning at him from behind the kitchen counter.    
  
Makoto hopes that it isn't a wrinkle across the bridge of her nose, when the chopsticks fall with a clatter on to the table.    
  
“Oh, yeah, sorry?”  
  
“Honestly,” his mother sighs. He's not sure if it'll make him feel better, if it _was_ an annoyed nose scrunch. Suddenly, he's glad he doesn't wear his glasses other than for reading. She shakes her head, drops Makoto's bento on the counter. “You're going to be late.”  
  
The clock across the room tells him he's late. The throbbing on his knees tells him he slammed it against the dinner table on his way out to the genkan. He isn't sure why his pinky toe aches, but he probably stubbed it somewhere or jammed his feet into his shoe the wrong way.  
  
“I'm going!” he shouts towards the general area of the kitchen, using the door's momentum to throw himself backwards.  
  
“Say hello to Haru-chan for me!” he hears his mother shout back. “Tell him we're expecting him for dinner with us tonight, okay?”  
  
“Alright! Bye, mum!” He shivers when the door closes, tries to keep the comfortable heater-induced warmth from slipping away by tightening his scarf. “Right. Time to pick up Haru.”

 

**\------o0o------**

  
"Oh." When he sees Haruka sitting on the stairs in front of his house, petting the white cat they're both fond of. Then, "oh," again, for good measure.  
  
"Good morning." Haruka rolls his eyes. ' _Are you still half asleep?'_ Makoto catches instead.  
  
"Good morning..." Makoto says slowly, doesn't look up from the cat nudging at Haruka's hand.  
  
"Me or the cat?"  
  
"You're up early..."  
  
Haruka looks away, glaring at a patch of grass, probably hoping to set it on fire. Makoto wants to laugh, just a little bit, at the agony clearly written across his face. "Rin wouldn't shut up." He pauses, ducks his head to murmur into his scarf, "Keeps calling me. I don't know how to turn it off."  
  
Makoto thinks it's probably best not to tell him how to take the battery out.  
  
Wait―  
  
_"Mako―"_  
  
_Rin?_

  
**\------o0o------**

 

Rin waits for them near the harbour on their way to school, pressing two cans of coffee against each of his cheeks in an attempt to keep himself warm. He turns to them, eyes bright behind wisps of white breath before softening into a smile, a toothy grin with a wave of his arms above his head.  
  
A chill starts to seep from the concrete road into his shoes when he stops, and he stares blankly at the way Rin's hair bounces as he jogs over. He wonders if this is a familiar scene, Rin vibrant against gray mornings, Rin peering up at him with a curious pout.  
  
"Is he still asleep?"  
  
He vaguely registers Haruka shrugging in the distance.  
  
"Ah, sorry. Spacing out." Makoto tries to chuckle. "Good morning, Rin."  
  
"Morning!" He says, taking one of his hands and drops a can of coffee onto an open palm. "A hundred and twenty yen."  
  
"I didn't ask for th― _ow."_ On reflex, he slaps his hands to his forehead, or tries to, at least, because he ends up smacking his face with the canned coffee instead. Dejected, he rubs the spot Rin flicked with the can.  
  
"You'll need it," Rin laughs, taking a backwards step as he leans forward slightly, fingers laced behind his back. "I think you left your conciousness at home."  
  
"You're both awfully _mean_ today," Makoto mutters around a pout.  
  
He joins Rin into a sprint, seeing the other boy jerk, tiny ponytail swishing behind him as he turns, realising Haruka had long since left them, leisurely walking to school a few metres ahead of them already.

  
**\------o0o------**

 

 _"It looks like he's just sleeping, almost..."_  
  
_"Rin, you know he isn't―"_  
  
_"I know, Haru. I'm trying t―"_  
  
Makoto wakes up feeling a strange weight on top of his head.  
  
"Shhh. You're going to knock down the tower."  
  
"Haru?" He mumbles through a yawn. "What...?"  
  
"You were sleeping all through history," Rin says from somewhere beside him. "Don't worry, we took notes for you."  
  
_Yes, but,_ "What are you guys doing to my head?"  
  
"We have Haru's pencil case, your pencil case, my pencil case, Ikeda's pencil case, and Hasegawa's pencil case in perfect equilibrium," Rin huffs proudly. Makoto could almost see him puffing out his chest, fists perched proudly on his waist.  
  
"And my eraser, your eraser, Rin's eraser, Ikeda's eraser, and Hasegawa's eraser precociously swaying on top of that."  
  
_"What."_

  
**\------o0o------**

 

 _November 20th,_ the little scribble on the corner of the blackboard says, a wobbly line longer than it's supposed to be on tail of the last character. Makoto smiles, thinks about how Rin can't be bothered to write properly towards the end, lets gravity do the rest of the work for him.  
  
Drawing circles around the date on his own notebook, he drowns out Achiwa-sensei's lecture on the quadratic equation and taps the back end of pencil against the page, watches the way the cap bounces back upwards with fascination. _Isn't there something he's forgetting...?_  
  
_His birthday?_ That was three days ago.  
  
Come to think of it, he doesn't remember what they all did for that.  
  
_Curious._  
  
The lunch bell rings, cutting short Achiwa-sensei's sentence about paraboles, bringing him out of his idle musings, along with the shuffling of students as they close their books, desk chairs skidding across the floor.  
  
Haruka pulls his lunch bag from the side hook, sets it down with deliberate movements, eyes glittering with anticipation.  
  
"Uh," Makoto starts, finding air and emptiness and disappointment when he reaches for his lunch bag. He curls his finger around the hook, smiling sheepishly. "I might have forgotten my lunch today."  
  
Haruka curls a protective arm around his bento, glares at him. _'I made lunch, I brought lunch, I'm not sharing. Go buy bread,'_ his expression says.  
  
Makoto can only laugh.  
  
"No one wants your fish anyway, Haru," Rin says with a wrinkled nose.  
  
"You're just bitter you can't cook."  
  
"Huh, really, Rin? I thought you could?" Makoto tilts his head, remembers Rin offering grilled meat and kimchi when he visited once.  
  
"Oh, yeah, sure. Instant ramen." Makoto's desk rattles from Rin pushing back his chair, he watches Rin make his way across the classroom. "Come on, Makoto. They're going to run out of curry bread if we don't hurry."

  
**\------o0o------**

  
Makoto comes back with a smile that's a bit silly, with a dash of ashamed of himself. Haruka looks up from his meal to see Rin sighing behind his best friend, a palm well acquainted with his face, carrying a plastic bag containing a sandwich and bottled tea.  
  
"Liquid miracle," Makoto says, holding up a plastic bag of his own. It's considerably bigger than Rin's and filled with what looks like a dozen curry breads.  
  
Haruka doesn't even shrug, keeps on chewing his mackerel in lieu of a response. 

  
**\------o0o------**

_November 21st_

  
  
As much as Makoto likes physical activities, even _he_ has to curse the existence of P.E on a cold winter day. He ponders which old man in the Ministry of Education is responsible for this form of torture as he looks out the hallway window, watching clouds drift across the grey sky. One of them might have looked like a kitty cat standing on its hind legs. The sun's quite bright out today, he hopes that it at least provides a little bit of warmth. He catches the ends of red hair fluttering past before disappearing from his line of sight, pulling him out of his daydream, chasing it into a small turn on his heel.  
  
"Oh, that's cute."  
  
Rin stops running, a shadow from the window frame falling on his little shark drawstring backpack. He grabs on to the straps and pulls, leans forward to bounce the bag up his back. "What are you talking about Makoto?" he says. "You gave me this for my birthday?"  
  
"Huh?" _He doesn't remember―_  
  
"Well technically it's Haru's gift. Since he made, like, all of it." He smirks, eyes Makoto teasingly.  
  
"Don't be rude, Rin. Makoto tried his best." Haruka walks by them without even sparing them a glance. "He glued on the little teeth for me before I sewed them on. He didn't glue his fingers together. I'm proud of him."  
  
_When did he―_ "You're not complimenting me, are you, Haru?" Makoto whines.  
  
He thinks he might have seen Haruka's shoulders shake, a small chuckle hidden in the slightest sly of a smile, before he turns a corner to the stairways.  
  
" _Haruuuu!_ "

  
**\------o0o------**

 

Makoto stands frozen still, when he sees the name _Matsuoka Rin_ written across one of the wooden cubbies. Lips parted, dazed, he keeps staring, mouthing each syllable with a slow exhale of breath, feels a disconnect between his senses as he reads the three characters over and over.  
  
His classmates starts to trickle out of the building, and he's left alone to wonder why the echo of Rin's name tastes foreign to him.  
  
_Matsuoka Rin..._

  
**\------o0o------**

 

A rolling rumble rockets past, far above him. Makoto looks up in the middle of his run, huddled in his tracksuit, breath white and puffing around his cheeks. The trail left by the jet plane stretches far above him, a never-ending canopy even as he keeps moving forward. He slows down into a jog, keeps a quiet, fascinated gaze on the white line cutting through the sky.  
  
He feels a gust of wind next to him, when Rin runs ahead, using Makoto's shoulder as leverage as he jumps forward, _forward―_  
  
―Rin almost looks like he's flying, the milliseconds he was in the air―hands outstretched, legs folded under him mid-jump. Palm splayed open, he traces the cloud with a downward swipe of his arm, paints his shadow across the starting line as he lands.  
  
He then trips, falls face first into the ground.  
  
Makoto doesn't think he has ever heard Rin laugh so freely, a warm, cheerful sound that sends his heart beating fast, cheeks tinted red.

  
**\------o0o------**

 

_November 22nd_

  
  
Makoto takes Rin's promoted pawn with a backwards move of his horse, blanches when he realises it doesn't change the situation at all. Rin is still winning, an ear splitting grin across his face. A pawn drop to block, Makoto unknowingly falls for the bait and takes the pawn with his dragon, nearly screaming when Rin drops the gold general onto the board. After a few more moves, Rin drops a knight, two grids above his king, only a rook between them and nowhere else to run within the next two moves.  
  
"Since when did you become so good?" Makoto mutters, head lowered in defeat.   
  
Rin looks throughly offended. "Since when did you become so _bad?_ "  
  
"Um?" _I'm supposed to be good at it?_ The shogi board almost looks like it's judging him, staring at him with contempt. Makoto looks away from it to the hallway window on his right, starts fidgeting in his seat.  
  
"I thought Tamura-ojiisan taught you better." Rin is starting to vaguely resemble his mother when he forgets to put his empty lunch box in the sink. He wonders if it's possible to assimilate with his chair right now. "I'm disappointed."  
  
" _U-Umm?_ " He really doesn't remember ever playing shogi with Tamura-ojiisan― _or_ with Rin back then, for that matter. His only childhood memory of shogi was with Haruka, which was short lived since Grandfather Nanase left them so early in their lives that they never continued since his passing.  
  
"Don't you remember? We used to play a lot with the neighbourhood ojiisans. You were a lot better than me."   
  
Makoto rubs the back of his neck with a hesitant laugh, unsure of what to say, doesn't make eye contact when he replies. "I must be getting rusty then."

  
**\------o0o------**

 

_November 23rd_

  
  
“Hey, Makoto,” Rin whispers. He's leaning on Makoto's desk, sitting backwards on his chair. He skitters his fingers near where Makoto's trying to copy notes from the blackboard, lets shadows play over the scrawl of Makoto's handwriting, flicks the pen away when Makoto tries to swat him with it. "Let's go on a date on the way home."  
  
Makoto thinks he might have lost it, because the sound his pencil makes when it clatters onto his notebook and rolls off the desk is much louder than he thinks is possible. " _U-UM?_ "  
  
"Really, what's wrong with you lately?" Rin says fondly, shaking his head smiling with a small tilt of his head. He props his elbow on the back of his seat, rests his cheeks on a lightly curled fist. "Is that a yes?"  
  
"I-I...!" Words struggling to come out, jammed in his throat, his brain is going a hundred miles per minute. Makoto slaps both hands to his mouth, squeaks a little. "Yes, please! Thank you!"  
  
Rin laughs, his eyes crinkling, a flash of teeth. "Are you that excited? We just went on one last week!"  
  
"Matsuoka-kun, Tachibana-kun, get back to work!" Shimoda-sensei bellows, accompanied with a slam from sliding the door open.  
  
Makoto jumps in his seat, scrambles back to grab his pencil, narrowly avoids hitting his head against his desk, and returns to where he left off.  
  
― _two or more waves meet at a point, the resultant displacement is the algebraic sum of the displacements of the individual waves―_  
  
― _last we―?_  
  
_When did he write―_  
  
His heart rate accelerates, wonders if it's from earlier ― head rush, moving around too wildly. Staring blankly his pen's shadow across the page, he notices his hand in an awkward stop.  
  
― _isn't there something he's forgetting...?_  
  
He continues his pen stroke, a diagonal line, completing the kanji, starts drumming his pencil, leaving scattered marks on the white paper.  
  
Once more, twice over, he keeps writing _'last week'',_ lets it fill two rows of his notebook, hopes that the memory comes back to him.  
  
_A date?_  
  
_"I was going to ask him on one when we―"_

  
**\------o0o------**

 

"Ice cream in winter?" Makoto asks over a can of hot coffee, hands wrapped tight around it, taking warmth.  
  
"Why not?" Rin says, happily biting off the top of his soft serve.  
  
"You're amazing, Rin." It's not sarcasm, either. Makoto looks at him wide-eyed and cheeks red.  
  
"You're being silly."  
  
"I guess I am." _I can't help it._ Makoto sinks the toe of his shoes into the sand, looks at the trail marks at his heels.  
  
_I can't help it. You're with me, like this._  
  
His coffee half drunk, heat gradually fading into the sea-side breeze. Makoto revels in Rin's temperature instead, warmth from his jacket, shoulder to shoulder.

  
**\------o0o------**

 

They take the long way home, stop by some shops, Rin under warm fluorescent light as he browses through the displays of traditional sweets. The shop bell tinkles overhead and they leave with a bag of manju cradled in Rin's arms.  
  
"I thought you didn't like sweets?"  
  
"Oh, they're for my mum and Gou," Rin smiles, wide. "Thought they might want some."  
  
"You're going home tonight?"  
  
"Huh?" His eyebrows are furrowed now, confusion seeping in. "Of course? Are you inviting me to stay over?"  
  
"Oh, no." _Weird._ "I didn't mean it like that."  
  
Rin lightly knocks himself into Makoto's side, leans his head on his shoulder. "Silly Makoto."

  
**\------o0o------**

 

It's odd, Makoto doesn't remember Rin being this energetic, their time together usually quiet, muted moments, a noticeable distance between them when they walk. He thinks of how Rin had laced their fingers together earlier, drags him while power walking toward the side of the road where he started cooing at a kitten.  
  
_It's―_  
  
― _cute..._  
  
His smile slowly disappears, when they reach the bottom of the stone steps.  
  
_It's almost like―_  
  
Rin's hand slips away from his, a gentle carress across his skin.  
  
― _a different Rin._  
  
"Makoto?"  
  
A short gasp, heart beats fast.  
  
_Not his Rin._  
  
The street light above them flickers on, light streams out of windows from houses along the stairs. Makoto has his fingers curled, a millimetre away from Rin's neck, feels the softest tickle of Rin's hair.  
  
"Good night, Makoto."  
  
They part with Rin's breath on his lips, wisps of white ghosting his cheeks.

  
**\------o0o------**

 

_November 24th_

  
  
“ _Good morning, Ma―”_  
  
He takes a step down the stone steps, sees in the corner of his eyes the white cat jumping into the bushes.  
  
_"I couldn't sleep aga―"_  
  
His vision blurs a little, the orange of his shoes melding into the grey below.  
  
_"I ate from your fruit bas―"_  
  
Maybe he's been staring blankly at things too much. He's been doing that a lot, dozing off.   
  
_"Please wake up s―"_  
  
"Makoto?" Haru peers up at him from two steps below, brows furrowed with worry.  
  
_"I miss y―"_  
  
"Oh, nah. Sorry, Haru." Makoto looks back up, feels the sky shift above him. A ghost of a touch kisses his forehead ― it's probably just his imagination. "I thought I heard something."

  
**\------o0o------**

 

_November 25th_

  
  
"My mum wants you over for dinner, please don't come over for dinner," Rin casually says between bites of his yakisoba bread.  
  
"Do you not want me to come over for dinner?" Makoto says around a mouthful of curry bread.  
  
Rin swallows, takes a swig from his water bottle, slams the bottle onto his desk. "She found old photo albums"  
  
Still chewing, Makoto tilts his head. "Yes, and?"  
  
"She wouldn't tell me what's in it." Rin then takes another bite, angrily rips a part of the bun into his mouth with his teeth.  
  
"Probably that time when we were having a sleepover and Rin wet his bed," Haruka helpfully supplies, neatly gathering the last of his rice to the corner of his lunch box.  
  
Rin groans, drops his head onto the desk with a loud thud.  
  
"That happened?" Makoto asks, eyebrows raised with interest.  
  
"Look at what you did, Haru," Rin says, voice muffled. "He forgot and you reminded him!"  
  
Haruka, prim and poised, scoops rice into his mouth. He takes his time, chews slowly with his eyes closed, before swallowing and pausing for dramatic effect. Placing his chopsticks down with a sharp click, he opens his eyes. "Never forget."

  
**\------o0o------**

  
Makoto finds himself looking at memories he doesn't find familiar: bright yellow hats and clasped hands, a row of potted tulips, their names scribbled in crayon, messy scrawls of hiragana. His fingers skitter across the glossy plastic as he tries to remember the moments pictured. He stops at a picture of Rin, a part of his fringe near the middle cut really short, crying as he tries to cover his forehead.  
  
"Ah, yeah. Some kid put gum in my hair, Haru tried to fix it. Remember?"  
  
He doesn't.  
  
He doesn't know _why_ , when he obviously should. Every photo a new story, instead of a warm hum of nostalgia.  
  
Rin's pouting in one picture, grins brightly in some others. Makoto hopes it doesn't show on his face, the sadness creeping around the edges of his smile. All these Rins he has never seen before, the many sides of Rin he missed, having grown up apart from him.  
  
_'I'm not going continue middle school here, though.'_  
  
_'Huh? What do you mean?'_  
  
_'I'm going to Australia.'_

  
**\------o0o------**

 

_November 26th_

  
  
"Rin," he asks the next morning. "What day is it today?"  
  
Rin taps his pencil on his cheek, a gesture he remembers from long ago, bright jumpers, coloured paper on the black board at the back of the class.  
  
"Monday, the 26th," Rin says with a wide grin.  
  
_"Huh?"_ Rin would say, rubbing the back of his neck. _"Are you getting senile in your old age?"_ He would look out of the train window, the afternoon sun casting shadows on his profile, a dust of orange on his white gakuran.  
  
Makoto looks in front of him, to the back of Rin's shoulders hunched over his desk, scribbling notes from today's lesson.  
  
_He's wearing a black blazer._  
  
_Why?_  
  
_Rin doesn't go to his school―_  
  
― _why?_

  
**\------o0o------**

 

_November 27th_

  
  
There is a black kitten curling around his ankle, meowing loudly. Makoto looks down, lips twitching up, and he bends down to pour the milk from the bottle in his hands to the bowl by his feet.  
  
It bumps against his ankle enthusiastically before trotting down to its bowl.  
  
"Looks like she likes you better than her own master," Rin's voice comes floating from behind, and Makoto straightens up, turning around to catch Rin descending down the stairs―eyes still heavy with sleep, red hair tousled in disarray, and the plump ginger tabby perching on top of his head is not helping at all. Cute, Makoto can't help thinking, and chuckles when Rin raises an eyebrow to him.  
  
"Are you aware of your passenger?" he gestures at the top of Rin's head, answered by a lazy meowing from the ginger tabby. Rin just shrugs and rolls his eyes, one hand scratching the line of his hip as he makes his way towards the kitchen.  
  
"Are you really going to start again," there's a slight mocking tone in Rin's voice―a clear inside joke, one that Makoto doesn't get at all. "He does this every morning, anyway. Sits on top of thirty year-olds' heads, every single morning."  
  
Makoto pauses, stares blankly at his hands, and mouths _thirty years old?_  
  
Rin stops one step away from Makoto, looking up with a slight smile, clearly expectant. Makoto swallows, unsure of what he's supposed to do, and ends up just giving Rin a hesitant, questioning smile.  
  
Something in his chest sinks when Rin's eyebrows slowly taut, smile fading by the second as the silence stretches on.  
  
"Makoto?"  
  
"Y-yes?"  
  
This time an eyebrow rises, high. "Get him off my head."  
  
"Oh!" Makoto says, and hastily reaching up to take away the ginger tabby from its perch on top of Rin's hair. He laughs, almost nervously, when Rin regards him with an odd look. "Sorry, I'm just―a bit sleepy, still."  
  
"Hmmm," Rin says, non-committally, but Makoto hears the edge in his voice. "So taking care of Seijuurou's new kitten is that distracting, huh..."  
  
Makoto blinks, taken aback. "Huh?"  
  
"Nothing," Rin replies, waving a hand dismissively even though his shoulders have tensed up, even though there's a pinched look on his face now. Makoto stares, dumbfounded in the face of Rin's sudden irritation, the familiar feeling of threading on thin ice when it comes to Rin comes flooding back.  
  
He hasn't felt like this about Rin for a long, long time.  
  
"Rin," he ventures carefully, absently letting go of the ginger tabby when it wriggles in his arms. It darts away the second its feet touch the wooden floor, chasing after an invisible prey. "Are you―angry?"  
  
Rin clicks his tongue, reaching down to open the fridge and takes out the carton of milk. The fridge closes with more force than necessary, and the glass Rin takes from the cupboard makes a loud thud on the table. The milk sloshes almost violently, in a way that urges Makoto to take a step back.  
  
He doesn't, but the terse smile Rin sends his way is enough to make him hunch into himself, trying to make himself smaller.  
  
"No." Each syllable is a dagger. "We're thirty. I don't get mad for stupid shit."  
  
_Lies_ , Makoto thinks, half-scared as Rin chugs his milk down. The coffee machine makes a loud ding noise that echoes in the corners of the kitchen, and Rin's gaze cuts towards him, sharp.  
  
"Seijuurou should be happy that his kitten is getting more attention than our own."  
  
The silence stretches long, broken only by the sounds of Rin pouring a cup of black coffee for himself, before he turns and trots away from the kitchen, steps quick and huffy.  
  
He's completely screwed, Makoto realizes.

  
**\------o0o------**

 

_November 28th_

  
  
His phone rings with Mikoshiba Seijuurou's name flashing on the screen, and when he answers, he's greeted with a laugh and a "Hey, Makoto, it's Seijuurou."  
  
_Seijuurou_ , Makoto thinks, almost awed, because apparently he is close enough to the former captain of Samezuka to warrant being on first-name basis. So he tries saying it, amazed at how the syllables roll easily from his tongue, and by his side, Haruka looks up at him with a rather surprised expression.  
  
"Thanks for picking up," Seijuurou says, voice almost drowned by the background noise of cars on the other side of the phone. "I know I said I won't bother you too much, but I'm worried about the kid, so I thought I'd ask!"  
  
The kid. Makoto is at loss for a moment, mouth helplessly echoing the word. "The kid?"  
  
"The kitten!" Seijuurou laughs, and it's odd that his laughter doesn't sound as loud as Makoto remembers is to be. "Please tell me your ginger tabby hasn't eaten her."  
  
"Oh!" The kitten, of course. "She's okay! She gets along very well with our tabby, I'll send you pictures? When I get home."  
  
"That'd be great!" more laughter ringing in his ears, one that makes Makoto laugh as well. He turns to Haruka, mouths Seijuurou, and Haruka nods, except the way his gaze lingers on Makoto is―odd. Unsettled, Makoto guesses, and he has no idea why. Seijuurou is still talking, though, so he returns his attention to his phone.  
  
"―and the agency says they might be able to work something out, so yeah. I'm really sorry, but can you keep her for a few weeks more? Once I get the apartment that allows pets―"  
  
"It's no trouble," Makoto says. "It's great to have her in the house, anyway. I like her."  
  
There's a moment of silence from the other side of the connection, and then it's not laughter that comes, but a quiet chuckle. Makoto has never heard it from Seijuurou, before. "Seijuurou?"  
  
"I'm glad you're more relaxed about this than I thought," Seijuurou says, and there's something in his tone that Makoto can't quite place. "I thought you'd be a bit more―you know."  
  
_I don't_ , Makoto doesn't say, and returns the chuckle instead. "Seems like you guessed wrong."  
  
"I do that a lot, when it comes to you," Seijuurou admits. Makoto blinks, unable to believe that this is the same Seijuurou he's known, before, shouting across the pool at his team to get themselves together. "Say, Makoto, you're free tomorrow afternoon? I was thinking of getting coffee together, maybe―"  
  
"Yes?" Makoto says, one hand quickly grabbing for the agenda he's found in his bag yesterday―the one listing his schedules and appointments and notes like phone numbers and groceries. "I think I'm only free in the evening, though, so if it's okay with you, dinner?"  
  
"Yeah. Yeah, of course!" the enthusiastic tone is back in Seijuurous' voice, and Makoto exhales a breath of relief. "I'll see you tomorrow, yeah? It's really good to talk to you."  
  
"You too, Seijuurou."  
  
Their phone conversation ends with that. Haruka's foot hits Makoto's own under the table, and Makoto glances sideways, eyebrows tauting. "Haru, that's not nice."  
  
Haruka doesn't answer, just looks at him for a long while like Makoto is something he can't figure out. Then, at last, he tilts his head thoughtfully, and says, "Dinner with Seijuurou?"  
  
"Yeah. Tomorrow evening, so―"  
  
"Are you okay?"  
  
Makoto blinks. "Uhh. Yeah?"  
  
Haruka stares and stares, hard, before he finally drops his hands and shoves them into his pocket, shoulder bumping against Makoto's arm.  
  
"Good, then."

  
**\------o0o------**

 

_November 29th_

  
  
The black kitten jumps off his lap when Rin throws himself on the couch next to him. "Ma-ko-too―"  
  
Makoto chuckles. "Yes, Rin?"  
  
Rin hums noncommittaly, but his eyes are looking everywhere but Makoto. "About yesterday morning."  
  
The words hang in the air, almost tangible. Makoto waits, doesn't say anything when Rin drops his head against his arm, red strands falling over Makoto's elbow.  
  
"Sorry," Rin murmurs, sounding rather sulky.  
  
Makoto swallows back the knee-jerk reply of _cute_ , and nods instead. "Okay."  
  
"Hmm," the head against his arm moves, turning until the right half of Rin's face is mushed against Makoto's arm. "So. Want to go out for dinner?" He pauses, a split-second of hesitation, before adding quickly. "You can choose where."  
  
The black kitten bumps against his ankle, meowing faintly, and Makoto remembers yesterday's phone call, remembers Seijuurou and the offer for coffee that turned into a dinner instead. "Ah―maybe tomorrow? I have―I told Seijuurou I'd go out for dinner with him."  
  
There is something odd in the way Rin stiffens―like a puppet whose strings are being pulled tightly at once. Makoto turns, concerned, one hand reaching out to touch Rin's head―  
  
"Oh," and then Rin is pulling away, rising to his feet, and the distance between them is back, like the earlier apology just now hadn't happened. "Okay. Not today, I guess."  
  
Makoto's mouth opens. "Rin―"  
  
"Have fun," Rin _sneers_ , and disappears back upstairs.

  
**\------o0o------**

 

_November 30th_

  
  
No one is home when he says, "Tadaima."  
  
The silence is oppressing, somewhat. Perhaps it's the knowledge that this isn't his place, that he doesn't really belong here. Perhaps it's just the cats making scary noises in the kitchen. Perhaps it's just the lights that are still turned off―a sign that Rin hasn't come home, yet.  
  
It's past midnight. He's come home with the last train, himself, after trying to figure out the training menus he had apparently constructed for the middle school swimming team. Rin should be home, he thinks, but then again he doesn't know Rin's schedule, doesn't know the people Rin hangs out with, here. Maybe Rin isn't supposed to come home, tonight.  
  
Maybe he's still angry, and he doesn't want to come home tonight.  
  
The thought hurts, and Makoto laughs at himself because it's not what he's supposed to feel. He doesn't belong here, he reminds himself for the tenth time, and settles down on the couch with a blanket to wait.  
  
There's the slightest flicker of sunrays sneaking in through the curtains when he starts awake at the sound of the front door opening. His back straightens, all muscles protesting from the weird position he'd accidentally slept on, but he could hear quiet steps coming in, crossing the hall towards the living room.  
  
"Where have you been?" Makoto asks, too quiet, too hesitant. He's not sure how much he can push, not sure how much would take for Rin to snap. He glances at the clock instead, the last of the sleep tugging on his eyes ebbing away. It's almost five, he realizes. Rin must have taken the earliest train back.  
  
Rin, who doesn't even turn to look at him, and is busy petting their ginger tabby instead. "The bar." And really, Makoto could smell the alcohol from where he's sitting. He wonders if Rin had been drunk, if Rin had spent the night some place else, if― "It was Gou's shift all night."  
  
He doesn't know what to say to that. "Oh."  
  
Rin rises to his feet, letting go of the tabby. Makoto hears him click his tongue, hears the thick annoyance, sees the tension all over the lines of Rin's figure. "I'm going to bed."  
  
And as he watches Rin's retreating back, each of his steps heavy on the stairs, Makoto wonders if he should be doing something, now.  
  
Anything.

  
**\------o0o------**

  
_December 1st_

  
  
"I see."  
  
Haruka has his palms around a warm mug of hot chocolate, eyes following the swirl of the dark liquid. "Then, it's either you have a sudden, weird sort of amnesia, or you are a time-traveler."  
  
Makoto stares at him, unsure whether or not he should take Haruka's words seriously. "Haru..."  
  
"Or you've been going through various alternate realities."  
  
Makoto sighs. "Haru..."  
  
"Parallel worlds." Haruka suggests again, eyes raising to meet Makoto's gaze this time. "Multiverse?"  
  
With another heavy sigh, Makoto shakes his head. "Haru, what have you been reading?"  
  
"Sousuke recommends me western comics," Haruka shrugs, nodding towards the stack next to his own manga names for this month. "They have different art style. It's a good study."  
  
"Ha _ruuu_ ," he whines, at last, the way he always does whenever Haruka and Rin team up to play with him. "Be serious."  
  
Haruka stares at him, impassive, before finally uncrossing his legs and putting down his mug of hot chocolate on his table. He looks straight at Makoto, blue eyes clear, unjudging. "I am."  
  
There's something in Makoto's chest that gives way at the words―relief, he realizes, that Haruka actually is taking him seriously. That Haruka believes his story; of memories that don't fit, of being younger one day and much older the next day, of the constant uncertainty of where he is and what he's doing, of the confusion of meeting so many different Rins―  
  
_"―like this has any effect on you at all."_  
  
―and hazy voices he hears sometimes, words that echo in his ears but make no sense, familiar tones he can't quite pinpoint to decides whose they are.   
  
But Haruka listens. Haruka believes.  
  
Everything feels much lighter, somehow.  
  
"That explains why it took you so long to come here after Rin got angry," Haruka hums. He takes back the mug of hot chocolate into his hand as he distractedly goes through the corrections his editor has made. Papers rustle as he sheafs through, looking for the particular page he wanted to fix.  
  
Makoto perks up. "You knew he's―"  
  
"He ranted at me three days ago," amused blue eyes find Makoto's green ones for a second. "Usually you come to me hours after, but you never did. I was starting to get worried."  
  
"I don't even know why he got angry," Makoto complains half-heartedly. Rin is scary when he's mad, but really, it's the lack of smiles on his face and the palpable tension on his shoulders that bother Makoto the most. He raises his own mug of hot chocolate and takes a sip, murmuring behind the rim of his mug. "I was just feeding Miko―I mean, Seijuurou's cat―"  
  
"About that," Haruka says evenly. "Seijuurou is your ex-boyfriend."  
  
Makoto chokes.

  
**\------o0o------**

  
As hard as it is to believe that Rin could get mad at something so― _petty_ , Makoto cringes inwardly at his own word choice, he reminds himself that he is now somehow thirty years old without having the memory of going thorugh his whole twenties.  
  
"I think it will always be shaky," Haruka says absently, eraser moving lightly over crisscrossing lines on his paper. "Both of you, about your relationship."  
  
There's something in Haruka's tone that makes Makoto want to ask. Questions hover on the tip of his mind, dancing on its edges, waiting to tumble on his tongue―what happened before?, did Rin also have someone before him?, what happened between Seijuurou and himself?, was Rin involved when they broke up?, how had it been between Rin and him before they hooked up?, how did he even get to have Rin?, when it sounds like a miracle to him--and it's tempting, because Makoto knows Haruka would answer. It's Haruka, after all―Haruka who accepts things as facts and faces them as they are.  
  
_I have no right_ , Makoto reminds himself almost bitterly. This Rin isn't in love with him, he's not the 'Makoto' who should be here, after all.  
  
So he asks instead, quietly, "What do I do, Haru?"  
  
Haruka doesn't even pause, changes his eraser in favor of a G-pen, and answers, "The usual."  
  
"The usual?"  
  
"All your habits," the corner of Haruka's lips twitch. "That's why Rin got mad. You didn't do―" his face sours a bit, obviously about to use the words that are not his choosings. "― _the little things_."  
  
"The little things," Makoto repeats dumbly. Is that how Rin say it?  
  
"Like when you get the cat from his head," Haruka says, his tone airy, and Makoto recognizes the edge of teasings lacing his tone. "You always bump foreheads and kiss him on there, too."  
  
The effect is instantenous, Makoto flushes to the root of his hairs. "I do that?"  
  
"Play with his fingers whenever you sit side by side."  
  
"Oh my god."  
  
"Brush his bangs when he bends down to get something."  
  
With an embarrassing wail, Makoto buries his face in his palms, whines high at the back of his throat. "I do those embarrassing things?"  
  
Haruka snorts. "I'm glad you realized how embarrassing you are." There's the sounds of papers being shuffled together, and the put away on the table. "But it's important for you both."  
  
Makoto peeks at him from between his fingers, face still aflame. "Important?"  
  
"You always look so happy," Haruka says, plain and simple. "Always, when you're being embarrassing. Both of you."  
  
Makoto pauses.  
  
And it hits him, then, with a weight that rivals gravity, the realization that in this world, wherever he is, a Makoto lives happily with Rin, even after everything they went through.

  
**\------o0o------**

  
_December 2nd_

  
There's still the lightest of downwards curve on the corners of Rin's lips when he descends the stairs that morning, again with the ginger tabby on top of his head.  
  
Makoto straightens up from where he's been crouching and petting Seijuurou's black kitten. He turns around, hesitates only for a second before letting his feet move towards where Rin stand, hands reaching out to take the tabby off Rin's head. He catches Rin's gaze, the way irritation flickers across his face, and Makoto takes a breath, closing the distance and presses his forehead lightly against Rin's.  
  
Rin pauses.  
  
Makoto clears his throat, then moves to press a brief kiss against Rin's forehead. "Good morning... Rin."  
  
The blinks Rin gives him are owlish. "...Morning," he mutters, almost belatedly, the last of the downward curve on his lips vanishing. Makoto laughs, a mixture of nerve and relief, feeling more awkward than he had been at sixteen when a girl had confessed to him for the first time.  
  
He wonders if the Makoto here experienced that, too.

  
**\------o0o------**

  
There are a lot of these little things, according to Haruka's account, and Makoto still flushes at the idea of doing them to Rin many times enough for them to be a habit. Playing with Rin's fingers absently when they sit next to each other. Brushing Rin's bangs back when he bends down to get something from the floor. Pressing a kiss on the top of Rin's head as they bid each other goodbye for the day at the genkan. Pulling Rin's hair back with a hairclip when they do the dishes together.  
  
Little things, and half of them still make Makoto blush because he's never entertained the idea of being―intimate enough with Rin that he could do these things without questioning himself.  
  
He's embarrassed, but there's a quiet comfort in these―feelings, these little things, these domestic gestures, he thinks. He understands, a little, why it must have bothered Rin when Makoto stopped doing them.   
  
_I think it will always be shaky_ , Haruka's voice echoes in his ears.  
  
Makoto looks at the small smile tugging on Rin's lips as they knock elbows on the sink, suds up to their elbows, fingers catching one another as they wash the dishes.  
  
This is what makes it worth it.

  
**\------o0o------  
**

 

_December 3rd_

  
  
He's scanning his own agenda―things he never remembers writing, notes he doesn't understand―that shows his schedule for the next week―when Rin's arms wind around his shoulders from behind.  
  
"So," Rin says, voice warm in Makoto's ears, and Makoto feels the heat climb up to the tips of his ears. "Sorry I've been an asshole this past week. I was," he shrugs, trying for nonchalance and missing by a mile. "You know."  
  
_I don't_ , Makoto thinks, but answers with a smile anyway. It earns him a brief peck on the lips―another one he doesn't deserve, another one that shouldn't be given to him―and recognizes it as a peace-offering from Rin. He tries not to let his smile fall, and says, "It's okay."  
  
Then Rin's off to the kitchen, laughter tinkling as he welcomes the ginger tabby climbing up his back. "We're having nabe tonight," he announces, steps light as he flits about in the kitchen. "I already invited Haru. Besides, it's my turn for revenge, and yours to get jealous."  
  
"What?" Makoto blinks.  
  
The smirk thrown his way is absolutely filthy. "I asked Kisumi to come over for dinner."  
  
There's a split-second of silence as Makoto's brain registers the implication. His eyes go as wide as saucers, then, disbelief coursing through, because Kisumi?! And Rin?! Were?!  
  
"Rin!" he yells, jumping to his feet. "Kisumi?! Are you seriou―"

  
**\------o0o------  
**

 

_December 4th_

  
  
"―Rei-chan?! They just got together _three months ago?!_ And they met, like, _a week_ before that! They look more married than Haru-chan and Sou-chan do!"  
  
"To be fair, Nagisa-kun," Rei takes a moment to push up his glasses, and then place his hands back gingerly around his teacup. "Haruka-senpai and Sousuke-san aren't the most fitting of comparisons for this relationship."  
  
Makoto blinks, spends the next few seconds taking in surroundings. A cafe, somewhere. It isn't familiar, though. Probably somewhere in Tokyo―the streets outside are packed with people, he sees a cramped row of shops opposite this one from the window to his left. It's warm inside, small yet comfortable, furnished with sharp, minimalist decor.  
  
_Ah,_ he thinks fondly. _Rei, then._  
  
"They've known each other for _years_ , Rei-chan! We havent seen them hold hands, even!" Nagisa shouts, leaning further and further into Rei's personal space. Makoto tries not to chuckle when Rei pushes him away, smooshing Nagisa's cheeks with both hands and setting him back into his seat. "There's something wrong with that," he continues, as if nothing happened.  
  
"It just means Makoto-senpai and Rin-san are affectionate, Nagisa-kun," Rei huffs, like he can't fathom how Nagisa couldn't comprehend something so simple and _really, Nagisa-kun, there's no need for this explanation at all._ It should be a little worrying, how Makoto can clearly hear Rei's voice―inflection and all―in his head.  
  
_Wait―_ "Rin?" Makoto finally says, fidgeting in his seat.  
  
_In this world, too?_  
  
Nagisa and Rei turns towards him, two blinks in tandem, like they forgot that Makoto was there at all.  
  
"Yeah? You were asking us about what to do for your monthiversary next week?" Nagisa says.  
  
"You came to us saying that Haruka-senpai suggested a candle-lit dinner in his apartment, with him cooking for the both of you," Rei supplies.  
  
_Oh._  
  
Makoto feels his cheeks redden, a warmth spreading across his face.  
  
_This world, too._  
  
_How many worlds has it been?_  
  
_They all lo―_  
  
"And then you said 'no' because there's a high chance Haru-chan would text live reports to Sou-chan from behind the kitchen counter."

  
**\-----o0o-----**

 

_December 5th_

  
  
"This place is very... _Rei,_ " Rin says after a cursory look around, snickers a little into the rim of his teacup.  
  
"Ah, you could tell?" Makoto laughs, cutting a small piece of his sachertorte with a fork.  
  
"How could I _not?"_ He sets the cup down, traces the geometric patterns printed on the napkin wedged under his saucer. "I wouldn't be surprised if he was commissioned for the interior design."  
  
"He's in aerospace engineering, Rin, not design." The cake melts on his tongue, the moment he takes a bite, a burst of rich chocolate in his mouth, an underlying taste of apricot. Makoto holds a hand to his cheek, and squeals in delight. If he tasted liquid miracle in the form of curry bread, this―in comparison―is _absolutely euphoric._ He needs to thank Rei later, because it looks like he might become a regular.  
  
"Charming," Rin snorts, not without fond amusement."I'm dating a high school girl."  
  
Makoto flushes red, drops his hands to his lap, and starts fidgeting. "I'm sorry," he squeaks.  
  
"Nah, it's cute," Rin leans forward, elbow on the table, cheek resting his palm, _looks_ at him, love and adoration in heavy trickles, it's almost unbearable. "That good?"  
  
He has to remind himself that he doesn't belong here. The tightening of his chest tells him that it's not his place, he doesn't deserve what he's getting right now.  
  
_This world, too._  
  
_This world's Rin loves him too._  
  
"Makoto?" Rin's been waiting with his mouth open, waiting for Makoto to feed him, probably. He withdraws back to his seat, rubbing the back of his neck. A short breath, like he's about to say something, but he quickly stops himself, parted lips forced into a frown. "I'm sorry, were you uncomfortable?"  
  
_This world's Rin loves another 'him',_ he tells himself.  
  
"No, sorry. Just spacing out." He's good at hiding, he thinks―a smile already back on his face, his movements calm when he cuts a small piece of his cake. He hopes that this Rin doesn't know him well enough to notice.

  
**\-----o0o------**

  
_December 6th_

  
  
He thinks he hears a woman scream. The overhead fluorescent lights unsually bright. He feels a swoop in his stomach, going up his chest, a hand outstretched forward to keep his balance, trying to pull himself _forward, upwards, stop himself from falling―_  
  
" _Oof._ "  
  
Makoto blinks. Once, twice, first finds that the ceiling isn't moving further away from him, and second, that his support started to shake.  
  
"You're _heavy,"_ Rin says, voice strained. His face is scrunched in concentration, keeping them both from tumbling down on to the ground.  
  
"Oh!" Makoto jumps, stumbles forward and nearly slips again on the ice on the ground. He waves his arms around, steadying himself by keeping his feet apart. "There we go," he says proudly, before turning back to look at Rin with a pout. "Did you call me fat?"  
  
" _Yuppp,_ " Rin drawls, scrunching his nose. "High school girl."  
  
"Rin, don't be _mean,_ " he frowns, turning fully towards Rin.  
  
"I'm not _wrong_ though," he makes a show of waving his arms in front of him, like he's trying to get rid of an ache. "I think you just broke my arm."  
  
"You wouldn't move it around like that if I did."  
  
The third thing he finds, as Rin takes two steps forward, closing the distance between them, is that they're the only ones in front of the station.  
  
_Then, what was that―_  
  
"You're right," Rin smiles, soft, heartfelt. His hand is cold against Makoto's cheek, and everything is overwhelming, almost unbearable, _too much―_ their closeness, Rin's breath on his cheek. "I'm just being silly."  
  
There was supposed to be a fourth thing, he thinks, that he found. It all but fades away, under the lights from the station entrance, as Rin brushes a faint line with his lips along his cheek, a butterfly's touch too close to his lips. A breath passes between them, when they part, and Makoto sees a soft dusting of red across Rin's face.  
  
"Good night, Makoto," Rin says, pressing their foreheads together, eyes fluttering close as a small smile grows. "See you tomorrow."

  
**\-----o0o-----  
**

 

Hey, I'm almost home, text you later?  
  
_Underneath the message are rows and rows of unsent messages from himself. Half of them were sent in the span of half-an-hour after the last received message, and then one hour, then one and a half hour._  
  
Okay, see you on Skype when you're home, I've got something to tell you.  
  
I just got yelled at by Gou, she said you have a quiz tomorrow morning. You sure it's okay to call you?  
  
Let me know when you get home  
  
Ma-ko-tooooo―  
  
Makoto, none of my messages are coming through to you, I think. Are you home? Can I call?  
  
_"You're still here."_  
  
_Rin looks up, sees Haruka comes to a stop two steps before him. Exhausted blue eyes regard in critically, and Rin tries to relax, tries to straighten his shoulders, but the finger hanging above his phone screen is trembling anyway._  
  
_"I didn't feel like going home." Rin says instead._  
  
_Haruka nods mutely. Rin watches the exhaustion dragging Haruka's limbs as he takes the seat next to_ _next to Rin, leaning back until the back of his head hits the wall with a quiet thud. A soft sigh hangs between the two of them, the sound carrying too much unsaid despite being almost inaudible._

 _"How is―" Rin begins, but his voice fades into nothing as Haruka tilts his head, staring blankly straight ahead. "I see."_  

 _His fingers curl around his phone tighter, and he looks down. The unsent messages have grown, each dated sporadically in the days after the last received message. He lets his eyes skim over them, each message perfectly etched in his memories: random stories, music recommendations, silly cat pictures he finds on the internet―a desperate attempt of normalcy, even if he knows he won't get an answer._  

_Makoto's phone was broken in the fall, after all._

_Rin takes a long, shuddering breath, and hangs his head. He feels Haruka's eyes on him, feels the question before Haruka voices it, feels the change in the air when Haruka's hand lands on his shoulder._

_"Rin?"_

_Rin gives a shaky laugh that makes his shoulders tremble as he buries his face in his palm. The edge of his phone digs into his cheek painfully, but he doesn't care. He opens his mouth to say something, anything, and ends up repeating the same thing he's said to Haruka, over and over again, these past three weeks._

_"I was going to tell him," he swallows thickly. "I was going to ask him out to one. A date. Or something like that."_

_Haruka's fingers dig painfully into his shoulder, a reminder to stay afloat, to not lose to the current. It's a pain that Rin welcomes, because it grounds him to the present._

_He places a hand over Haruka's own, and squeezes back._

**\-----o0o------**

_December 7th_  

The morning is quiet.

Makoto shuffles in the kitchen, a half-burnt toast dangling from his teeth as he pours hot milk into a red mug with little sharks printed along the base. The clock says it's past ten, now, and he could hear the faint noises of people chatting down the stairs outside, of cars passing down the road, of the neighborhood announcement that grows louder as its car comes nearer, fading slowly as the car leaves in the span of a few seconds.

But the apartment is quiet, comfortably so, and Makoto takes a moment to pause and take in everything. 

He feels oddly content, here. There's only the quiet hum of the refrigerator, and the noise of the washing machine in the background. The living room is bright; a white cat is lounging lazily by the small potted plant on the windowsill, bathing in the early noon sunlight.The TV is on, news blaring even if the sound is muted, and from it, Rin is beaming at him.

There's a gold medal hanging on his chest, and god, the Japan's National Team Jersey suits him so much.

 _Welcoming the National Team at Narita_ , the caption on the screen says, and Makoto watches as the camera span to shoot an elated crowd, cheers muted but not their grins and their excitement. Then scenes of victories replayed _―_ Rin grinning from his place at the podium, Haruka's dive, always graceful and perfect, Sousuke's fist raised up to the sky as he surfaces from the water.

Like a dream coming true. 

Makoto watches, face split in an unabashed grin, relishing the feelings of pride and happiness that course through his whole being. Watches Rin sling an arm around Haruka's shoulders, pulling him closer to share a grin. Watches Sousuke ruffle Rin's hair, and then offer the side of his fist for Haruka to bump gently. Watches the way Haruka's eyes soften, and the two gold medals jingling over his chest, sometimes bumping Rin's own gold and Sousuke's silver.

_"The competition was going really smoothly, too."_

It's a quiet morning.

_"―ke up, we should go watch them."_

Makoto sets the mug on the kitchen counter, then pulls on the jacket draped over his shoulders. Only to realize that it's not a jacket, after all.

It's a jersey. The same color combination of the ones the National Team are wearing, on TV. Except it's obviously at least a number too small to be his own.

Makoto smiles,tugging the jersey up, burrowing himself into its warmth, warding off the chilling bite of winter morning air, as he pads towards the couch and settles down to watch the news.

**\-----o0o------**

It's about three hours later when he hears the front door open, a rowdy clack and a soft bang against the wall, followed by familiar banter, cut short by Rin's yell of, "I'm home!"

Makoto stumbles on his own feet as he scrambles up from the couch, hands keeping the jersey on his shoulders, knees almost giving up to gravity, but he hears the sound of feet bounding across the wooden floor, fast, and then there are arms around him, surging up and pushing him back to his feet, a blur of red on the line of his vision before Rin's laughter tinkles in his ear, giddy and satisfied.

"Makoto!" breathless, each syllable loving. Fingers grasp on the jersey draped over his shoulders, and Makoto buries his face into Rin's shoulder, into the actually National Team jersey Rin is wearing, smells chlorine and the faintest of sweat, but mostly warmth and Rin.

"Rin," he answers, forgets for a moment that he doesn't belong here, that he isn't the one who should be standing in Rin's arms, now. It's hard to focus on that, when Rin's laugh still echoes in his ears, when Rin's hands wind around him and leaves him with an unfamiliar weight dangling over his chest.

Makoto's breath hitches.

"I told you I'd bring gold home," Rin says, voice brighter than Makoto has ever heard. He looks up see Rin cock his head sideways, and finds Haruka and Sousuke walking into the living room, small smiles on each of their faces.

"He's crying," Sousuke points out, but his eyes are dancing in laughter as he draws Makoto into a hug. The silver medal on his chest disappears, joining Rin's own on Makoto's chest. Then it's Haruka, at last, reaching out to drape his two gold medals around Makoto's neck, blue eyes wide and bright and happy, and Makoto pulls him forward.

"Haru," his voice breaks, fingers digging into Haruka's small shoulders, as Haruka's arms wind around his back and holds on. "I'm so happy." 

"We're home," Haruka tells him, and Makoto closes his eyes, tries to banish the guilt of experiencing this happiness, this pride, when he isn't supposed to be here.

He laughs, listens as it blubbers with tears, and answers with a wet, "Congratulations." 

**\-----o0o------**

_December 8th_

Rin makes a face at his plate, fork moving to set aside the greens from his halfway done ribsteak. "Whose idea it is to put in green peppers?"

Nobody answers, but Makoto catches the smug looks Sousuke and Haruka share. Rin, obviously, does not miss it, either, because now he's throwing the both of them a heated glare.

"This is a celebratory dinner," he grouches. "For once, goddammit, let me eat what I want."

"Green peppers are good for you," Sousuke says vaguely, then winces for no reason, eyes narrowing at Haruka, but doesn't say anything. Haruka, for his part, just continues to tuck into his grilled mackerel, looking like he's very satisfied with both himself and the world.

"Remind me again why I'm friends with both of you," Rin snits, stabbing one of the green peppers on his plate, then raises it up towards Makoto. "Makoto."

He doesn't have any qualms in opening his mouth and lets Rin put the green pepper in his mouth. He chews slowly, almost happily, and opens his mouth again when Rin nudges the corner of his mouth with another bite of green pepper. The amused look on Rin's face is definitely a bonus, though.

"Get a room," Haruka says evenly, still focused on his mackerel, even if his face looks a bit pinched.

"I don't want to hear that from people who don't even try hiding their playing footsie under the table," Rin shoots back, just as Sousuke winces and the corner of Haruka's lips twitch smugly.

"We're not," Sousuke grits out, and Makoto has to agree, because he isn't sure trying to kick each other's shin under the table without even looking is counted as playing footsie.

Then again, from the way Rin rolls his eyes, this might be a very normal thing that happens often.

**\-----o0o------**

_December 9th_  

"Haru, that is incredibly rude," Makoto pouts, looks disapprovingly at Haruka sitting next to him.

"I'm not doing anything," Haruka says. Well, he's not  _wrong._ To anyone else, his expression looks completely blank, bordering disinterested. His shoulders are shaking a little, but he's good at playing it off as being cold.

" _Haru," h_ e's starting to sound like his mother, and he doesn't know how to feel about that. It's hard not to fall into that manner of speech, when his best friend has the social grace of a particularly offensive rock. There's probably a mistake in that analogy somewhere, but Haruka is  _incredibly_  difficult.

"What?" Haruka is having increasing difficulty keeping his face straight _―_ Makoto can see the way the corners of his lips twitch.

"You're laughing at Sousuke, don't lie."

"I'm not," he has to hide his face in his sleeve this time, pretending to wipe hs nose. 

"Haru,  _please._ "

"He looks ridiculous, queuing in the middle of high school girls," Haruka finally admits, eyes shining with pure and utter amusement.

"Do you want your crepe or not?"

"He looks so _lost._ "

"When does he not, though," comes a snicker from somewhere behind them. Makoto feels something warm placed on his head, turns to see Rin with a toothy grin. "Your hot chocolate, Makoto."

"Ah, thank you!" Makoto reaches over his head, relishes in the warmth that spreads across his palm from the can. He tries to force his happy smile back into the vicinity of scolding parent when Rin moves around the bench to sit next to him. "You two are terrible."

" _Meh_ ," was their synchronised reply.

When Sousuke comes back _―_ somehow being able to easily carry four crepes in two hands _―_ he comes back to Makoto burying his face in his hands, along with Haruka and Rin looking at each other with _―_ what's starting to look like _―_ misplaced glee.

"Did I miss something?"

**\-----o0o------**

_December 10th_

"― _myself!_ "

A strong tug whips Makoto around, and he finds himself looking into Rin's eyes. He hears a car drive by from somewhere behind him, headlights casting shadows across Rin's face before they disappear. He sees shop lights in blurred backscatters, interweaving crowds behind strands of red hair.

He blinks. Whiplash, maybe. At their closeness, probably. "Huh?"

"Makoto?" Rin says, a tinge of worry in the undertones of his voice.

"Sorry, did you say something?" Makoto pulls back, feels something caught around his hand.

"That's not like you, spacing out like that," Rin moves closer, bumps their shoulders together. Makoto hears a quiet rustle, feels something knock his thigh.

"Sorry." A grocery bag, he notices, when he looks down. They're holding a grocery bag together.

"Anyway, I can hold this myself." Rin brings his hand up, swinging the bag between them a little. "But you insist on sharing."

"Ah, well," they start walking, Makoto looks towards the main street on his right, scratching his cheek. "It's kind of like holding hands?"

Rin tugs the bag downwards, lightly jerking Makoto along. "Don't be silly."

Makoto chuckles behind a curled fist, walks the rest of the way home with a pouting Rin.

**\-----o0o------**

"Rin, where should I put the― oh, whoops―" Makoto knocks down a box from the bottom cupboard, freezes.

He thinks his breathing might have stopped, throat tight, chest constricted.

His hand's shadow wavers, looming across the contents cascading across the floor.

A halted reach, a jolt in his fingers. Makoto withdraws his hand, holds it against his chest. 

Alphabets jump to his vision, his brain registering the English words before he realizes it.  _'We're sorry, but at this moment we cannot accept your applica―'_  He stops reading, rips his eyes away, tries not to see the university emblem printed on the far left corne _―_ too late, though, too late, he'd already caught the word  _Australia―_

He doesn't know where to look, when everything surrounding the letter are remnants of broken dreams―red rimmed swim goggles, their childhood trophy, photos from their high school championships, Iwatobi and Samezuka, all smiles and pride and too-bright memories, the photo of Rin's father and his Iwatobi relay team, crinkled at the edges.

Makoto turns around, shoulders shaking, frantic. He draws in a choked breath, gathers his voice.

"Rin," he calls out, voice shaky. "Rin, what _―"_

**\-----o0o------**

_December 11_

" _―_ are you thinking?"

Rin blinks up at him, his head a solid weight on Makoto's lap, eyes clear and bright, a slow, lazy smile curling up his lips. Makoto watches, transfixes, at the  _haori_ Rin wears, at the long red strands splayed all over his lap and down on the wooden floor, a striking contrast of crimson and dark brown. There's a sort of odd languidness in Rin's movement as he stretches, toes curling, and Makoto's mouth falls open because  _are those cat ears?!_

"Nothing in particular," Rin shrugs, but Makoto doesn't pay attention to anything else, except the pair of red cat ears peeking out from Rin's hair, perking up when Makoto's fingers brush over the strands closest to it. Hesitantly, Makoto buries his fingers deeper, seeking out the ears, and stiffens when they twitch under his touch. 

Rin makes a sound that sounds like a growl, playful. "Makoto, stop it."

"But," the ears twitch again as he runs a fingertip along their base. Something in his chest tickles, a steadily growing shriek of  _cute cute cute cutecutecuteSOCUTE_  before he gives up, throwing his arms around Rin's neck and buries his face into Rin's hair, drawing out a surprised yelp from the redhead. "Your ears! Rin, you're so cute!"

"Makoto, what the fuck _―_ " a slap on his arm, but Makoto doesn't let go. Rin with real cat ears? Dressed in  _haori_? He doesn't even know what this world is but he envies it a little, already. "Makoto! Stop it!"

"But you're so cute," Makoto whines into the red strands, one finger scratching an ear, and almost instantly, he feels Rin's purr. God, he wants to melt. "Riii~iiinnn _―_ " 

Rin sighs. "You and your fetish."

**\-----o0o------**

_December 12_

Haruka's snowball lands square on Makoto's face, and Makoto yelps. "Cold!"

"Stop pouting," Haruka tells him, and then ducks behind a tree from the snowball Rin just threw. He retaliates with two snowballs, chasing Rin's laughter with it, and launches the third one at Makoto again, slow enough for him to duck. "I thought you wanted to do a snowball fight yesterday." 

 _Did I?,_  Makoto wonders, but Rin is piping up from the other side of the field, "He's pouting because I won't let my ears and tail out."

Haruka raises an eyebrow at Makoto. "Really."

"But he was so cute yesterday!" Makoto says defensively, earning himself a snowball on the back of his head courtesy to Rin. "Ow, Rin! That's so mean _―_!"

Rin snorts haughtily. "I was  _not_  cute." He bends down, effectively ducking out of another one of Haruka's snowball, and gathers more snow. "Bakeneko are  _never_  cute. We're  _terrifying_."

Haruka makes a sound like an aborted laugh, and Rin retaliates by throwing a snowball in neck-breaking speed, hitting Haruka square on the face. Howls of laughter echo in the trees around them, Rin falling onto the pile of snow as he cackles in satisfaction, and Makoto tries to cover his laugh with coughs instead.

"You," Haruka bends down, the words coming out low, threatening, "are on."

And then it's a war in earnest _―_ countless snowballs lobbed and thrown overhead like they're projectiles, stinging cold against their skins, their faces, their heads. It's building fortress and accumulating ammunitions, jumping from a snowpile to another in desperate attempts to gain better resources and positions, laughter and shouts with each snowball thrown.

The tip of Makoto's nose is red when Rin playfully bites it after he pounces on Makoto from the branch of one of the trees.

 **\-----o0o------**  

_December 13_

"Don't let him kiss you," Haruka murmurs, his tone warning, and Makoto blinks, surprised.

"What?"

"You're not him," Haruka says. "You're _―_ it's hard, even I didn't notice it straight away, and you're _―_ you  _are_ Makoto but you're not him. Not _―_ ours."

 _Ah_ , Makoto thinks, relaxes, because somehow this Haruka figures it out without him having to tell his suspicions, his confusions. "How did you know?"

"I can feel it," Haruka shrugs. His bare toes curl into the pile of snow, the sleeves of his jeans are already damp.  "It's you but _―_ your soul is different. Much younger. Still tied, but different."

He doesn't understand, but somehow Makoto knows Haruka isn't going to explain much further. It's funny, too, that wherever he's stranded in, whichever Haruka he meets, it's always Haruka who is the easiest to understand. So he hums, nodding absently, and Haruka looks at him again. "So don't let him kiss you."

"Okay," Makoto says, and thinks, _I don't deserve it anyway._  

This Rin isn't his either. He doesn't belong here. Even if this Rin loves him back, here, it's not him that Rin fell in love with.

Clear blue eyes, steady gaze, Haruka turns to Makoto with an even stare. "Then, who are you?"

So Makoto tells him. Everything _―_ the things he remembers finding, memories that don't match, the different Rins and Harukas and his other friends that he saw. He tells about the other Haruka's theory, too _―_ alternate realities or maybe parallel worlds, or maybe Makoto is just simply dreaming because he's too tired, and Haruka, as always, listens.

It's a relief that Haruka doesn't ask anything else, that this Haruka believes him as easily as the other Haruka had.

"Well," Haruka says, when Makoto finishes his story and the silence between them has stretched long enough for the two of them to digest everything. "All I know for sure is that I'm not dreaming right now, so you probably aren't, too."

"There's nothing I could do about it," Makoto says, helplessly. "One second I'm doing something, and the next second I might be doing something completely different. Younger, or older. It's confusing, and I could never tell. But _―_ " he pauses, scratching his cheek with a finger. "For what it's worth, I think your Makoto is safe, somewhere in  _here_."

He points at his own chest, smiling sheepishly.

"I see," Haruka nods, satisfied. "You're going to _―_ "

_"―go home. You need the rest."_

_"Don't―fuck, Haru, I'm fin―"_

" _―_ your Grandma's place tomorrow, right?" Haruka finishes, and Makoto snaps back to the present, blinking wide. The words register at least, especially with the weight of Haruka's look on him, and Makoto just says, "Huh?"

"Your Grandma's. At Tochigi. You're going there tomorrow."

"Yeah," he replies, silently adds maybe, because he's not sure. He doesn't know much, he never does. "I think _―_ Rin will go with me?" 

"He always goes with you," Haruka tells him, then bumps their shoulders together. Makoto catches a small smile thrown his way, Haruka's eyes softening. "It's nice to meet you."

The words startle out a laught out of him. It takes away the weight on his shoulders, somehow _―_ the anxiety about not knowing anything, the unsureness that laces every single on of his movements. Makoto smiles, smiles until the corners of his eyes crinkle, and thinks of how lucky he is, that he always has Haruka. 

"Thank you, Haru," he grins. "It's nice to meet you, too."

**\-----o0o------**

_December 14_  

Rin's legs dangle from the back of the seat in front of Makoto. The bus hums, the occassional bumps on the road shaking and jolting them slightly on their seats, the quiet conversations of people around a nice blanket that adds to the sleepiness of the passengers.

Makoto stares at Rin, stares at the growing grin Rin is giving him, and tries to keep his expression stern. "Rin."

"What," Rin tosses his long hair back _―_ Makoto finds his eyes following them, still fascinated with how they fall over Rin's shoulders. "I'm not bothering anyone."

 _Focus_. Makoto levels him another frown. "It's not nice to sit on people's heads."

Rin rolls his eyes. "They don't even feel it," he complains, then leans forward, eyes dancing, breath on Makoto's nose. "I need to keep myself entertained, since you won't."

Too close. Too close. Makoto averts his eyes, turning his head away, heat climbing up his face. "We're in public."

"I know," Rin drawls. "It's going to look weird if you look like you're making out with yourself, huh?"

"Rin!" Makoto hisses, but the amused chuckle is already tickling up his throat. Rin laughs, one hand reaching out to playfully ruffle his hair before pushing himself forward and off the poor person's head. He toes his way down the seat aisle to the back, and Makoto's gaze follows him, follows the trail of his hair, a smile on his lips as his head turns.

"Rin, don't go and play pranks on peo _―_ "

The word dies on his throat, the smile freezes, as he sees the truck come from the other side of the bus _―_ breakneck speed, zooming in out of nowhere, a death sentence that comes with a deafening screech and the sick crunch of metal _―_

Makoto blinks.

**\-----o0o------**

_True to Nagisa's words, Rin is still there._

_Haruka resists the urge to sigh―he knows Rin will still be there, by Makoto's bedside. He's probably not one to talk, too, when it always takes the combination of Makoto's parents and his friends to drag him away from Makoto's side, from talking to Makoto in hushed whispers that he isn't even sure if Makoto really could hear._  

_Nagisa's failed in dragging Rin away. Now is his turn._

_"Rin," he murmurs, a call that's as quiet as Rin's whispers in the midst of those steady beeping sounds. The whispers stop, a pause that leaves a deafening silence despite the hums of the machines, and Haruka tries to focus on each beep that follows the beat of Makoto's heart. He steps in, watches Rin turn to him slightly, and wishes none of them has that exhausted slump on Rin's shoulders._

_Except they all do. It's in Nagisa's dragged steps, in the twins' sleepy looks, in the lines of the Tachibanas' faces. It's in Gou's increasingly untidy ponytail and Rei's askewed glasses, in how Sousuke hangs his head, in Haruka's own heavy sighs. They're all exhausted―almost a month, he reminds himself, almost a month and Makoto hasn't woken up even once._

_He stops by Rin's side, close enough to put a hand on his shoulder. "You should go home."_

_Rin doesn't budge. "I will. One more hour."_

_"You've been here for the last six hours, Rin. Get some rest." His fingers tighten on Rin's shoulder. "Some food. Shower. Sousuke will take over."_

_"I'm fine."_

_Ever the stubborn Rin. Haruka doesn't sigh, doesn't shake Rin on his seat. He stares at how Rin has Makoto's hands clasped in his own instead, steels himself, and says, "He has a lot of people."_  

_"I know."_

_"Rin. Go home. You need the rest."_

_"Don't―" Rin's whole body goes rigid, shoulders tensing, and Haruka could feel the anger curls in the syllable, rising so suddenly like a wave that crashes against a reef. "Fuck, Haru, I'm fine!"_

_It rings, too loud in the death stillness of the room, and the echo seems to surprise Rin as well, like he didn't expect himself to burst out. As quick as it came, the anger disappears, leaving exhaustion and defeat in its wake, and Rin's shoulders slump back down._

_Haru lets the silence stretch, lets the sound of each beep resounding in the room ground him. He needs it, Rin needs it―the reassurance that Makoto is still here, still fighting._

_Then he says, "Rin," and tightens his fingers on Rin's shoulder again. "Let's go."_

_There's no resistance this time when Haruka tugs on Rin's elbow. Rin rises to his feet, movements sluggish, like all of his energy has been sapped completely. Haruka turns first, lets Rin murmurs his goodbye to Makoto this time, stepping away first―if he doesn't, he'd stay, too, and then everyone would get mad at the two of them._

_"We'll be back soon, Makoto," he catches Rin saying. "You'd better wake up before then, okay?"_

_Soon, Haruka inwardly agrees, throwing one last look at the bed, willing Makoto to hear, to understand. Doesn't he always, without Haruka having to say anything?_

_Soon._

**\-----o0o------**

_December 15th_

_"Soon, the train on the twelfth platform will depart. Please stay behind the yellow line―"_

Time stopped still, at one point. He can't move his limbs, an arm outstretched and frozen. Fluorescent lights overhead, blinding through the gaps between his fingers. He sees a woman at the top of stairs, knees together, curled into herself. She's shaking, hands held tightly at her chest.

Makoto feels his head pound, blood pumping in his ears. He hears a deafening thrum, panicked murmurs from the station crowd. His heartbeat might have stopped for a while. 

He hears a scream cut through the air.

With a sickening lurch in his stomach, his heart starts thundering. Every beat against his chest increasingly loud, and it keeps drumming faster, _faster, suffocating him as it claws a draw of air from his throat―_  

 _Ah―_  

Belatedly, he realises.

― _he's falling._  

 _"―koto―!"_  

 _"Makoto―!"_  

He jerks awake, a tangle of white sheets and flailing hands, Rin gripping his shoulders. There's a wrinkle between his brows, a deep frown pulling at his lips as he looks down at Makoto with worry.

"Huh?" Makoto takes a moment to compose himself, breathes his heartbeat down to normal, unclenches his death grip on his blanket. "I was _―_ what happened? _"_  

"You were having a nightmare," Rin says softly, soothingly. He runs his hand through Makoto's hair, brushes back his fringe from his forehead. "It sounded really bad."

Makoto releases a ragged sigh, looks down to his lap.  _Was that how―?_  Makoto's not really quite sure yet, but it's starting _―_

"I'll go make breakfast, yeah?" Two pats to his hand, Makoto feels the mattress shift under him with the decreased weight as Rin moves away. "Come down whenever you've calmed down."

"Yeah," Makoto says. Distracted, almost. "Thanks."

It's starting to make sense _―_ these dreams he's been having. He's not a hundred percent sure, but he has a good guess, now. 

And it scares him. 

He sees his shadow shake, across the linen blanket, feels his own shoulders tremble.

_Did he really―?_

_Is he okay?_

Makoto tries not to think about it, tries to not feel like the ground will collapse under his feet on his way out into the hall. He tries not to think about how it feels to fall. No use thinking about that, now. He doesn't need to give Rin more reason to worry.

The soft carpet tickles the underside his toes. Makoto inhales, slow, deep.

It's not what he needs to sort out, anyway.

 **\-----o0o------**  

They're in Australia, this time, he finds out. He has a week break and decided to visit Rin for once, returning the favour for every time Rin had to crash in his tiny apartment in Tokyo. Makoto brings a forkful of scrambled egg to his mouth, pauses, sets it back down to his plate with a quiet clink.

"Makoto?" Rin asks. He's still worried, Makoto can hear it in his voice.

"No, I'm sorry." His breakfast is starting to look like a war zone, ketchup smears painting the plate, pieces of egg strewn about. "Please don't worry."

"Oh," Rin looks down, a little hesitant. "If you say so, then."

_"He's going to wake up soon, I can feel it."_

_"Nagisa-kun, you're making this harder―"_

Makoto looks out the window over the kitchen sink _._ If he's right, if he really did manage to piece things together, then it's just a matter of―

_"No, Rei-chan. It's in my gut. I know it."_

_I want to wake up―_

― _how?_

**\-----o0o------**

_December 16th_

"Don't miss me too much, okay? I'll be back in the afternoon," Rin says at the door, patting Makoto's cheek. He has a sports bag slung over his shoulder, his hair pulled back into a ponytail. It's a first for Makoto, seeing him off. Usually it's the other way round, Rin in his genkan, trying to rub sleep away from his eyes as he mutters a soft  _'see you later'_  behind a yawn. It's not a stretch, for this to happen in his real life. It's familiar enough. A gesture still somewhere in the realms of  _good friends, safe._  

"You're talking to me like I'm a puppy," Makoto whines. 

Rin chuckles, smiles brightly like he's particularly amused, and tiptoes to pat the top of Makoto's head instead. "Right, right, who's a good boy? Remember, there's food in the fridge!" 

" _Riiiin!_ " He's not really helping his case against the puppy statement.

"Okay, okay! I'm sorry!" Rin kisses him on the cheek before taking a step back, looks up at him with a look filled with so much love that Makoto wants to look away. "See you tonight?"

"Yeah," Makoto says. "See you tonight."

**\-----o0o------**

_To Tachibana Makoto_ ,it says, written across the middle of an envelope, eight, ten more of them fanned out across the counter. Makoto had only wanted to brew a pot of tea; he didn't expect to find old wounds, feelings left unsent.

It would be easier to put the letters back into the empty tin, pretend that he's okay _―_ that he doesn't need replies to something from a decade past, bury everything into the back of Rin's small overhead cupboard. It  _should_  be easy, faking that he's fine, like he doesn't  _need_  things. He's used to that.

And yet, it isn't.

Makoto gingerly picks up one of the letters with quivering fingers, runs his thumb over Rin's messy scrawl of his name. The paper has started to yellow around the edges.

_To Tachibana Makoto._

He wishes this was a reality where they were still in middle school. At least that way, this world's Makoto could have read this before it became a lingering heartache.

**\-----o0o------**

_December 17th,_ it says on the little postage stamp on the corner of the envelope. 

 _From Tachibana Makoto,_ it says on the upper left corner.

Makoto had always thought his letters got lost in the mail, had always thought none of them reached him.

 _Dear Rin,_  the first line reads, and Makoto remembers every line and letter, every coma and every period. He remembers how he agonised over his penmanship, practised his handwriting before actually sitting down in the living room with the letter set he bought from the small shop at the  _shoutengai._  

It's unfair, how he could mutter each word from memory perfectly as he reads. Out of all the different realities he found himself in, he had to find this one as well. 

 _We miss you,_  the last line reads, before his own name on the very bottom. Makoto remembers writing  _I miss you_ , at first, before erasing, cheeks burning with embarrassment.

**\-----o0o------**

_December 18th,_ a whole year later. Makoto doubts that letters takes nine years to deliver, even when it takes a year to write. 

 _The competition's really tough here, I'm having trouble keeping up._ He thinks he understands why Rin didn't want to send this. After making a show of going to Australia, after their high point with the relay, a descent into struggles and hardship would've felt like he left to achieve nothing. He imagines Rin trying to hide behind a hesitant laugh, a hand rubbing his head as he ducks down sheepishly.  _It's uncool, huh?_  he would have said.

Still, it would've saved them a lot of hurt and confusion if he had just told them. What did he think Makoto was going to say?

 _I really miss you_ , he says that a lot in the letter. Three years of loneliness wouldn't have been as hard as it was for the two of them, if he had replied.

_I'll visit whenever I come home, yeah?_

Makoto sighs and folds the letter back into the envelope, slumps forward to rest his cheek against the cool wooden surface of the low table.

**\-----o0o------**

_December 19th_

The front door closes, his smile fades. He looks at the gap between the door, light seeping through the crack into the dark hallway. It's still quite early, Makoto can hear Rin's footsteps over the quiet hum of the morning. 

The carpet burns his heel, when he turns.

 _I'm just going to make tea,_  he tells himself, reaching for the overhead cupboard. Rin's tin of genmaicha, he found out yesterday, is always on the counter by the kettle. 

His finger slides across the cool metal catch around the rim and pops the lid off.

He puts the filled kettle on the stove, leaves it to boil as he makes his way towards the living room. He's sure at this point he could recite the contents of each letter by heart. He already lost count how many times he had read them.

A sharp whistle from the kettle rings throughout the apartment, an accompaniment to the sounds of rustling paper.

Makoto wonders if he would have read these letters as much as he does now, if Rin had sent them.

**\-----o0o------**

_December 20th_  

Makoto hears the front door creak open, but he doesn't look up from the letter he has in his hand. He holds his gaze, almost idly, not quite reading _'To Tachibana Makoto',_ just keeps his eyes on a point somewhere above it until the words start to fade out of focus.

There's a dull thud from the hallway _―_ Rin setting down his sports bag and taking off his shoes.

"I'm home."

Rin's footsteps are barely audible against the carpet, the bustling afternoon in the outside world much louder.

He doesn't say  _'welcome back'_ because, right now, Rin feels further than he ever did in years.

"Oh, you found them," Rin says, walking into the living room, socked feet padding across the wooden floor quietly, before he settles, sitting on the couch behind Makoto.

Rin's shadow shifts, at the edge of his vision, dark shapes across floor from sun hanging low in the sky. Makoto lets silence stretch between them, fiddles the worn corners of Rin's letter. He remembers them crisp and unwrinkled when he found them _―did he do that?_

His long, shaky sigh disappears under a light wind that wandered in from the open window.

"I should have told you that I did," Makoto sets down the one he's been reading, turns in his seat on the floor to look up at Rin. "I didn't mean to read them in secret or anything."

"I wish you could've read it in different circumstances," he's looking away, scratching the back of his neck. His bangs fall forwards, casting a soft shadow over his eyes. Makoto watches the corners of Rin's lips curve downwards ever-so-slightly, and feels disappointment curl low in his stomach.

"Like ten years ago? In my room back in Iwatobi after getting it from the mailbox?" Makoto hates how bitter he sounds, the way his voice cracks. "Why didn't you send these?"

"Well," a sigh, a little self-loathing, a little sheepish. "I thought it would've been embarrassing."

Makoto looks down to his lap, tries not to let the hurt show in his voice. He shouldn't be this hung up over this, hates that he's being incredibly petty. It doesn't mean that much any more, considering how things are now.

The loneliness he felt back then starts bubbling in his stomach, clawing up his chest, resurfacing, and he lets out a staggered breath. "It wouldn't. I would have loved to hear from you."

They hear the neighbourhood kids, cheerful voices carried from the distance through the air. Sharp voices of cats fighting somewhere, high-pitched and angry. Makoto spares a glance out the window, behind fluttering curtains dancing above the carpeted floor.

"I'm sorry..." Rin's voice is small, barely above a whisper, and Makoto can't see the expression on his face right now.  _Perhaps it's better, this way._ He hopes Rin can't see his, either.

"It's fine. I'm not angry any more," Makoto turns to reach for an envelope on the table, holds it to his chest. "I still wish you had sent these, though. But thank you, for writing them." 

Makoto feels a light thump, Rin knocking his forehead to the back of his head, his breath tickling stray strands of hair at his nape. It's warm, comforting, and it feels like it's just enough to make up for everything.

"I wish I had too."

**\-----o0o------**

_December 21st_

He sees a picture of a smiling Rin, on the altar, in their shared apartment. A lump forms in his throat, when he realises that it might be a recent picture. Last summer, maybe, not even a year ago, from when the Rin and Makoto of this world were together at a summer festival together. Rin's arm is extended towards the camera, just a point below, where Makoto sees a sliver of fabric in a different colour than Rin's yukata cut off frame. He notices the photo is blurry around the edges, now that he looked again. 

 _This world's Makoto took that picture._ In the the midst of a movement, under the warm glow of festival lanterns, a hurried snap on his phone as Rin pulled on his arm, pulling him forward.

The sun continues to set, a sliver of light in the horizon filling the otherwise dark room.

Makoto follows the stretch of his shadow behind him, to two mugs on the counter, a CD rack of Rin's favourite movies _―_ he finds himself in a middle of a space well-lived, their time spent together filling every corner.

He doesn't think about how cold it feels, with only one person standing in the room, his shadow filling corners that weren't supposed to be empty.

Makoto says nothing, as he sits in seiza in front of the altar and burns an incense stick.

**\-----o0o------**

_December 22nd_

A thin trail of smoke, the faint scent of fireworks; Makoto opens his eyes to a scene by a river bank, Rin holding a lit sparkler. Light dances around his sleeves, catches the subtle patterns across Rin's jacket. 

To the small hiss of the lit core, Makoto hears the smallest of whispers, "I think I might like you."

He doesn't quite trust himself to look, not at Rin's parted lips, not at red tinted cheeks behind a faint glow from the senkou hanabi. Makoto's afraid he'll fall harder, deeper than he already has. He doesn't need to hear the way Rin's breath shakes, stops himself from taking two steps to close the distance.

He watches the sparkler reflected in the river instead, hates himself for how calm he could keep his voice. "It's really pretty, huh?"

 _He's a coward,_ he thinks.  _Even in worlds where Rin loved him back._

"Yeah," Rin says, and Makoto can't quite read the emotion in his voice. "It is."

_But it's not "him" that this Rin is in love with, anyway._

**\-----o0o------**

_December 23rd_

He's laughing. He's smothering his laugh into Rin's hair, as Rin pulls one hand from under their pillow and finds a bunch of tiny blue petals in his palm.

"Sap," Rin says, and Makoto looks at the forget-me-nots, chest warm all over as he traces the shade of red dusting Rin's cheeks, all the way to the tips of his ears. He threads his fingers into the crimson strands, lets them softly fall before settling to cup the line of Rin's jaw, and kisses both of Rin's eyelids.

Rin catches him with a light peck on his mouth when he draws away. "Make me coffee." 

"Bossy," he teases, almost too easily, and Makoto gives himself a second to wonder where this feeling of familiarity comes from, this warmth of having Rin waking up to his own laughter and blue flowers that mean true love, this comfort of having Rin smile sleepily into the pillow. He pushes himself up and away, leaving Rin under the mounds of blankets, and shuffles out of the bedroom.

A small couch and TV, a living room that connects straight to the kitchen counter. A space so open with flowers in corners, petals almost too colorful against the plain white walls, lively specks of colors that speak of a settled life, a comfortable domestic life. Makoto traces the lines of the flooring with his toes towards the kitchen, eyes sweeping the small space littered with various knick-knacks _―_ keys, old newspapers, bills, keychains, empty mugs, magazines _―_ before crouching down and opening the cabinet under the kitchen counter.

The faint, sweet smell hits him, and his eyes widen at the sight of stark red petals covering boxes of tea and jars of coffee beans, and Makoto inhales sharply. 

_Red peonies―_

**\-----o0o------**

_December 24th, midnight._

"I keep telling him to get a cane," Haruka says, and Makoto blinks his eyes wide at the sight of his grey-haired best friends.

He's sitting cross-legged on the floor, looking up at both Haruka and Rin, both standing behind the kitchen counter, Rin crowding forward to steal the piece of gingerbread cookie on the cooling tray Haruka is holding. Haruka frowns deep at him, looking like he's about to slap Rin's hand away if only both of his hands aren't occupied at the moment. Their hairs are faded grey and red, faces marred with deep wrinkles that speak of good lives, filled with success and happiness and laughter. For a second, Makoto wonders how old they are, this time, and on the next moment the realization sinks that he might not be ready to see how he'd look when he's obviously past fifty.

"Fuck you too, Haru," Rin says cheerfully, slowly moving away from the counter. There's still the familiar sway of his hips when he walks, albeit much cautious, much slower. "Just because I stumbled on the way to your kitchen doesn't mean I can't kick you into your koi pond. And don't even pretend you don't wade in it, the neighborhood children say things."

"I do not," Haruka says without feeling.

"Sure you don't," Rin grins, crossing the kitchen to the living room and towards Makoto, who is still sitting on the floor, belatedly realizing that he has little boxes of presents wrapped in green and red and gold, ribbons tangling in one hand and various-colored Christmas socks scattered around him. One look at the window tells him of the snow piling up high, and Makoto wonders where he is _―_ Tokyo doesn't see much snow on Christmas, really.

"Besides," Rin's voice arrests his attention again, and Makoto turns, finding Rin _―_ faded red hair, deep laughter lines, prominent wrinkles around his eyes, and yet there's that familiar Matsuoka grin and the fire in his eyes that never quite fades. Rin ages well, Makoto thinks, and feels the corners of his lips stretch into a smile, welcoming Rin as he drops to the floor next to Makoto, legs sprawled with not a care in the world, eyes never leaving Makoto's. "If I'm holding a cane in one hand, and the other's holding these goddamn cat things Makoto keeps insisting on buying, how will I hold his hand?"

The effect is instant: Makoto feels the heat climbs up his face to the roots of his hair, much to Rin's amused laughter, as well as Haruka's grossed out face. 

"I don't insist on buying cat things," Makoto protests weakly, choosing to focus on the less embarrassing phrase of Rin's statement. Despite that though, he reaches out with his own hand _―_ fingers bonier than he could ever remember, wrinkled and old but steady _―_ to grasp Rin's own. Rin laces their fingers together, leans in to steal a kiss, and Makoto flushes deeper.

"Oh my god," there is Gou, now, hovering on the door, the lines of her face sharper and frailer than Makoto could ever imagine, holding herself with an elegance Makoto hasn't ever seen. "You guys are supposed to play Santa and put the presents for grandchildren into the socks, not make out." 

"You had your Christmas Eve making out session with Seijuurou earlier, let us have ours," Rin snits back, only to get a sharp, wolfish grin from his own sister. Rin groans. "No, don't, I don't need to know that my sister does these things _―_ "

"You have three nieces and a nephew," Haruka points out helpfully. "And eleven grandchildren from them, in case your memory fails you."

"I don't want to hear that from a man with fifteen grandchildren," Rin shoots back, and Makoto chokes on nothing.  _Fifteen?!_  

Haruka merely shrugs. "Aki had quintuplets, what do you expect."

"It's okay, Oniichan," Gou pipes in breezily. "Saki is still young, and she wants more children so we'll beat Haruka-san's family in number eventually."

There's an impending headache somewhere in the back of Makoto's head because quintuplets and grandchildren really aren't the things he would associate with any of them daily. He decides to turn back to the small box in his hand, finishes tying the ribbon on top of the box, and stares at the numerous Christmas socks. 

Well.

"Uh, Rin," he says, lifting the box in his hand a bit higher. "Whose is this again?"

Three heads turn to him.

"Oh," Rin says, reaching around Makoto's back to reach a gaudy Christmas sock with bright gold-thread Santa hat on the center and tosses it to Makoto. "It's your favorite grandchild's I think."

Makoto stares at Rin, uncomprehending. "I have a favorite?"

Rin's eyebrows raise high. "Mio-chan is totally your favorite." 

"She is?"

"You let her have our kitten. You bought her the kitty-eared jacket. You wanted to go to her parent-teacher conference at school," Rin laughs, the edges of his voice rough and trembles a little, but still confident and strong. "Don't deny it, Makoto." 

"I thought our Kei-chan is your favorite," Gou pouts at him. 

"I think everyone is his favorite," Haruka says, brings the tray with plates of cookies and two tall glasses of milk out of the kitchen. He sets them down on the coffee table, glares at Rin when Rin makes a move to snatch one of the cookies.

Rin glares back. "What? I'm the Santa, those are for us!" 

"Yeah, when you've finished with the presents."

"Let him be, Haruka-san, Oniichan is forever five years old," Gou says, leaning back on the doorway and gesturing outside. "Besides, Aki-san wants you up. Some of the kids want a bedtime story."

"Alright," Haruka straightens up, each movement slow, like he's dragging himself a little bit, but there's something in the lines in his body that spells out contentment that Makoto envies, a little bit. Rin has them, too, he notices, what with the way he's sprawled on the floor and humming a random tune under his breath, leaning half of his weight against Makoto's side. "I'll see you both in the morning." 

They're all happy.

Makoto watches Haruka and Gou disappear out of the living room with a light chatter, the sounds of their footsteps against wooden floors a staccato beat in the silence of the night. The lights are dimmed, most of it coming from the fireplace and the  lit up Christmas tree now, and Makoto starts when Rin gently knocks their heads together. "You're quiet. What is it?"

Makoto smiles, runs his wrinkled fingers along the smooth surface of the next small box he's holding. "Trying to remember things."

Rin chuckles. "Nostalgic, huh?" He spreads the green and red ribbon he's holding, loops the red one around his hand once, and then around Makoto's, tying it together on the middle. Makoto stares at it, at the way it sparkles under the warm light of the fireplace, at the way bright crimson that fits all too well with the green _―_  

_"―middle birthday, did you know that? It's a thing now."_

Makoto blinks. Turns to look at Rin, who has his head resting on Makoto's shoulder, snug and comfortable, a small contented smile on his lips. "Yeah?"

Rin looks up almost quizzically. "Huh?"

Ah. It's another one of those. "Sorry, I thought you said something."

His hand is tugged forward as Rin places the next box into a Christmas sock rather absently. "Reminiscing about younger me, Makoto?" He flashes up a grin. "Even though you have the real one in front of your eyes."

And there's just something _―_ something about the faded red strands that pales in comparison to Rin's clear, bright eyes, and the rogue grin that never changes no matter how many Rins Makoto has seen, washed in the gentle yellow-red shadows of the fire that dances in the fireplace _―_ and Makoto loses his breath completely, because he never imagines this, he could never imagine this, and maybe this is something he wouldn't get to have _―_  

_"―present for me―"_

―but allowed to have a taste of, at the very least. He's glad. Glad for that, for the chance, for the warmth pressed against his arm, for the ribbons tangling between their hands, for eyes the color of deep crimson, contented and yet captivating at the same time. 

_"―Makoto, ple―"_

Bony fingers frame the lines of Rin's jaw, the tips of Makoto's fingers tentatively running along the familiar firm shape of it, and Makoto breathes out, "I'm so lucky, aren't I?" 

Rin tilts his head, the corner of his lips brushing Makoto's thumb, a lovely shade of red that spreads to the tip of his ears. His words tickle against Makoto's palm, soft and slow, more intimate than anything Makoto could imagine: "I love you."

He doesn't have the right to answer. This is not his place. Not where he is supposed to be. 

He doesn't, but _―_

_"―you hear us at a―"_

―but god, does he want to. So badly.

He leans down, presses their forehead together, breathes in Rin's soft puff of breath and lets out Rin's name with trembling lips. 

 _"―ke up..."_  

Rin's lips never move.

**\-----o0o------**

_The heart monitor beeps._

_Somewhere down the hall, Rin hears a faint melody of some Christmas jingle, piano notes that tinkle quietly in the midst of the hospital's silence. The door is slightly open, waiting for Haruka to return from his trip to the vending machine in the lobby. Their group has taken to sit by Makoto's bedside in pairs, so that they could remind one another to rest, even though the plan seems moot anyway considering that someone else always has to get in and drag whoever are inside out to rest._

_Beep. Beep. Beep. And other than that, it's quiet._

_Too quiet, Rin thinks, and finally lowers himself to sit on the edge of Makoto's bed. He traces the pale lines of Makoto's fingers, down to where the IV is strapped on his wrist, where an angry red marks the place where the needle had punctured. He looks away, presses a hand against his eyes, hard, and holds his breath._

_Quiet, quiet._

_If he's quiet enough, maybe he'd hear Makoto breath._

_"Christmas is our middle birthday, did you know that?"_

_They say comatose patients could still hear their surroundings, somehow. They say that it makes a difference, to tell stories and feelings and even the weather, that it gives positive influence for the patients to keep fighting. As if the words hanging in a room that's empty saved for the beeping and hums of the machine could turn into threads that bind them to the world of living._

_Rin doesn't know if it's true. Doesn't know if it's only people's wishful thinking, for those who are deeply asleep to hear their voices._  

_But._

_"It's a thing now, really," he continues, keeping his back to Makoto and his eyes to the door. It's hard to look at him, unmoving as if frozen in time, pale and deathly still. "Even if mostly the ones who celebrate it are teenagers. Teenage. Girls. Whatever."_

_He finds himself telling Makoto the silliest stories, lately. If he could hear them, Makoto would have smiled his amused, teasing smile that Rin loves, that Rin rarely sees._

_"But the point is that best friends celebrate these―and girlfriends and boyfriends―and they trade presents and stuff." He pauses, remembers the small box in his suitcase, remembers the birthday card he'd forgotten to slip in before he'd wrapped it. "I haven't given you your birthday present yet, you don't wanna miss that completely do you?"_

_Quiet. So quiet. And he can't hear Makoto breathe._

_The heart monitor beeps._

_"And now you owe me a present too," he swallows the lump in his throat, swallows down the hope bubbling up for a moment, swallows down the prayer. "It's Christmas Eve, Makoto, come on. "_

You've been asleep for too long.

 _"I'm not asking for much, I just want you to―" his breath hitches, the word breaks. Rin takes a sharp breath, presses a hand against his eyes, and concentrates on just breathing for a moment. He shouldn't―none of them should cry, when talking to Makoto like this. The doctors say it isn't good, both for Makoto and for themselves, but, "―to wake up. As a present for me."_  

 _The syllables hang in the air, thin and thready, drowned by the hum of the machines._  

_His voice shakes. "For our middle birthday. Makoto―" his chest seizes, throat closing up. "―please?"_

_And the last of his strength breaks, scattering down with such a force that sends him shuddering, exhaustion and pain lancing through mercilessly. Rin clasps a hand over his mouth as tears flood, burning hot against his cheeks, and for a moment he can't think of anything but god, what if Makoto never wakes up, what if Makoto finally gives up and lets go, what if he turns around and the heart monitor stops beeping, the machines stop humming―_

_His fingers press onto Makoto's unresponsive ones, not-quiet-holding, just pressing, like it could keep Makoto there, like it could rouse Makoto and wake him up. He thinks he hears the steady beeping stutter, but it must have been his imagination._

_He's terrified. He doesn't remember ever being so terrified, before._

_"Every―" his voice breaks with a sob, but this time Rin doesn't stop. This time, he pushes through. "Everyone is here. Everyone is worried about you._ I'm _worried about you, I can't―"_

_He can't. He can't do this. He needs Makoto to wake up, because he was supposed to know. Rin needs him to know, needs not to lose the future he's imagined, when Makoto finally knows and answers him with a smile―_

_"We can't do this," the words blubber, broken. "Can't watch you like this, it's―it's painful, and I can't do this anymore, Makoto,_ please _."_

_The heart monitor beeps._

_"Please, wake up...."_

**\-----o0o------**

_December 25th_  

Yesterday's Rin loved him back, softer than he had ever thought.

The week before, he remembers, Rin loved him through letters unsent _―_ secrets from their younger selves, clumsily hidden in-between words that were only found years and years later. Before that, there was Rin, loving him in each playful gestures, and the Rin who loved him even through broken dreams and broken hearts, and the Rin who loved him with smiles and grins that never changed from their elementary school days. 

He wonders, if today's Rin would love him as well _―_ if he'd get to feel it once more because the Rin he knows wouldn't _―_  

It's bright. 

Makoto opens his eyes, bleary, sees sunlight stream into the dimly lit room, white curtains fluttering inwards, Rin's hair in the gentle breeze. 

His eyelids feel heavy, unfocused images, cuts of black. He feels his fingers against the soft linen bed sheets, tries to reach outwards, catch the light from the window, catch the back of Rin's shirt between his thumb and forefinger.

He breathes, with the small gust of wind that flows in, inches his hand further forward.

_'I wonder what today's Rin will be like?'_

His hands fall on top of Rin's instead, taking in a familiar warmth. Fingers curling in between Rin's, not quite interlacing, just holding Rin to himself, against the plush softness of his blankets.

"Hey," his voice is slurred, if he even says it out loud at all. His head feels a bit muddled.  _Odd._  He can't quite tell where his thoughts end, where the line blurs into reality. "Rin?"

Rin looks almost scared, like he doesn't dare to look. His hand grips Makoto's tightly, shoulders locked, tense, trembling. He turns, and  _oh_ ―his eyes are red, puffy, like he's been crying, wide, like he's surprised.

"Makoto," His whisper sounds muffled, as if he's underwater. " _Makoto!_ " 

 _"Please don't make that face,"_  Makoto tries to say. _"Why are you crying?"_  

He doesn't hear a reply. Maybe Rin couldn't hear him. Maybe this time, it's really a dream.

_'Then, am I going to wake up soon? To my usual morning?'_

Makoto starts to drift back to sleep, the sunset appearing as backscatters, coherent thought escaping into the distance between them.

_'I don't think I want to keep dreaming any more.'_

He falls asleep with a caress of skin across his forehead, his hair brushed out of his face.

"I'm glad I could catch it before you knocked out again," Rin murmurs. He sounds happy. Makoto's glad. He seemed tired, earlier. Shoulders hunched, a faraway look, his body swaying the slightest bit as he sits, ready to fall asleep at any moment. Makoto doesn't know what happened in this world, what happened to the "him" of his world, but he's glad, at least, if Rin is happy.

"I was starting to forget how your eyes looked," he continues, voice fading into a quiet hum in the darkness.

 _"You'll be okay. We're glad you're okay."_  

**\-----o0o------**

"He's stable."

It's Ran's choked sobs that echo first in the hallways of the hospital. She buries her face into Haruka's arm, fingers clutching almost desperately, and Haruka sways sideways until his shoulder hits Rei's, who amazingly stays solid and supporting.

"Thank God," he hears Rei whisper, feels him shake, and Haruka allows himself a shaky chuckle, because  _yes, thank God._

"I need to sit down," Nagisa says, a hint of hysteric in his voice. "He's okay. Mako-chan is _―_ he'll be okay, right?" 

Sousuke ruffles Nagisa's hair good-naturedly. "I think we can all take a breath, now." 

"I'm so glad," and then the sobs begin in earnest, Nagisa folding in unto himself, breath hitching in-between crying, and then Gou, joining in with little, barely controlled sobs. By her side, Ren is scrubbing his face with the back of his hand, looking like he's trying his best not to cry.

"He woke up," Haruka says, and the words, somehow, make everything feel so much more real. "He's going to be okay."

Nagisa cries that much harder.

Haruka lets Rei take Ran from him and turns to Rin _―_ Rin, who stepped out of Makoto's ward fifteen minutes ago when the doctors and nurses came flooding in, looking overjoyed and terrified at the same time, and had simply slid down the wall when the doctor emerged back out to tell them that Makoto is stable. Rin, who has his head hanging in-between his knees, shoulders slumping forward in exhaustion, and hasn't moved since the doctor left with Makoto's parents. 

"Rin," he doesn't dare rising his voice, and the words come out as a whisper. He crouches before Rin, careful, eyes searching for Rin's own. "Rin."

Rin lets out a shaky breath. He raises his hand, palm open, and Haruka sees it trembling.

"He held my hand," Rin whispers. "He _―_ stared at me for a long while, Haru. He held my hand.I think _―_ I think he was trying to tell me something." 

Haruka closes his eyes, relishes the words, lets them ground him into the reality. It's safe now, he tells himself, and breathes, breathes,  _breathes_. 

"He is okay," he tells Rin, voice firmer, surer. "He's here. With us."

Rin's head tilts up, finally, tearful eyes catching Haruka's own, but Haruka could see the hint of a relieved smiles in the corners of Rin's lips.

"Yeah," Rin echoes. "With us."

**\-----o0o------**

Yesterday's Rin loved him, words soft as wrinkled fingers covered Makoto's own.

Yesterday's Rin loved him, with a feeling nurtured from childhood, and bright smiles untainted with painful experiences _―_ a dream that never shattered, safely protected in the bubble of happy memories.

Yesterday's Rin loved him, with laughter that echoes through an apartment well-lived in and red peonies hidden in the kitchen cabinet.

Yesterday's Rin loved him, even as he stared back at Makoto through a picture on an altar.

Yesterday's Rin loved him, and Makoto has gotten used to it, to finding himself with a Rin that isn't his but is somehow his anyway, to a Rin that loves him in so many ways he never thought possible. So many different Rins, as Makoto dreams on, and all of them had loved him _―_ no matter what had happened between them, no matter what memories they shared.

Today's Rin _―_

"Brought you flowers," Rin grins at him, a bouquet of azaleas in his arms. His strides are long and firm, glancing at Makoto only once before he focuses on the empty vase by Makoto's bed, deft hands snatching it off on his way towards the sink. "The others are still out, I got back earlier than I thought, so I picked these up. Haru and Gou are coming soon, though."

"Mm," is Makoto's only response, half-listening to Rin as he twists the edge of his blanket. He listens to the sound of the water running, to the rustles of the bouquets as Rin tries to balance handling them as well as filling the vase with water. 

"Sousuke thinks we should bring you tonkatsu, can you believe him?" The ponytail on Rin's nape sways as he shakes his head. Makoto follows it like he's enchanted, right-left, right-left. "It's okay though, Rei lectured him _―_ you know how scary Rei could get when he gets into lecturing mode." 

The sound of the water stops, and with it, something in Makoto's chest sinks.

He knows it. He's expected this. He shouldn't feel so _―disappointed_.

"Nagisa and Gou fought over what flowers we should bring you, so I asked for the florist's recommendation _―_ "

Makoto stares at the lines of Rin's figure, stares at the early afternoon light that falls on him through the window, at the ponytail that sways above Rin's nape as he moves about. 

Today's Rin _―_

"So azaleas it is," Rin finishes, then turns around, holding a vase full of azaleas, literally beaming at him. "What do you think?"

Today's Rin isn't in love with him.

Today's Rin―

The corners of his lips are frozen, when he tries to lift them. "Thank you for the flowers, Rin."

Slowly, slowly, the grin fades from Rin's face. 

"Makoto...?"

Makoto turns his gaze towards the windows, closes his eyes, and remembers yesterday's Rin.

**\-----o0o------**

If there's a thing Makoto shouldn't be proud of himself, but is somehow secretly proud about himself, that would be how good of a liar he is.

"Just tired," he smiles at Nagisa, who bounces by his side and throws him a sad look when he doesn't laugh at his rendition of penguin walk. He lets Nagisa head-nuzzle his arm, so that the blond doesn't pout anymore.

"I've been awake longer than yesterday," he tells Rei, when he's caught spacing out as Rei recounts his adventures in London with Nagisa. On the other side of the bed, he hears Gou mutter a nearly silent "really?" under her breath, but decides not to bring it up. He smiles instead, leaving them no room to argue.

"Sleepy," he murmurs when Rin comes to sit by his bedside, letting his head loll sideways, his eyes fluttering close. He doesn't see the face Rin makes, only hears Rin's reassurance that it's okay, he should rest, and feels Rin's hand patting his leg.

"Yes," he says, and keeps his eyes on his blankets, picking on the seams, as Rin comes into the room. Doesn't look up, not even when Rin asks after how he feels today. It's easier to smile, when he doesn't have to look at Rin. "I'm alright."

"Sorry, Rin, give me a bit?" he smiles from behind the novel Ran had brought him earlier, when Rin opens the door. "I'm at a really good part. Just a bit, I promise." 

Sousuke really brings him tonkatsu on the sixth day since he woke up _―_ andended up eating it himself as Makoto nibbled on an orange in the end. "Everyone was worried sick," he tells Makoto quietly, as the layers of orange of the sunset rays bathe the whole room. Makoto is about to apologize, again, but the easy silence that hangs between them turn into a tensed one, and he bites his tongue.

"Rin cried," Sousuke says, at last. He doesn't meet Makoto's gaze, keeps his eyes towards where the white lilies sway in the evening breeze that sneaks in through the open window. "Every single time he came out of your room."

Makoto closes his eyes, and tries to banish the horrible voice that whispers on the back of his mind:  _he'd cry for any one of us_. 

Today's Rin isn't in love with him, either.

**\-----o0o------**

As good a liar as he is, he can't fool everyone. Or perhaps he hasn't been fooling anyone. 

"You've been weird."

Haruka's eyes bore into his own, searching. Makoto folds his hands, and tries to smile as wide as he can, until the corners of his eyes crinkle. There's no fooling Haruka about this, not when Haruka knows how much he loves Rin, and has probably noticed how Makoto has been trying to avoid interacting with Rin properly, this past week.

"It's just _―_ taking a bit of me. All of this."

He twists the blanket under his fingers, again. Haruka's gaze flicks back to his sketchbook, eyes narrowing ever so slightly, but the scritch-scratch of his pencil doesn't stop. "Hm."

Makoto chuckles. "Really."

The sounds of pencil against paper pauses, and Haruka sighs lightly.

"Who do you think I am, Makoto?"

His best friend ever since he could remember. The one person who understands him best. Someone who never fails to have his back, and someone he both cares for and looks up to. Makoto doesn't say any of it, doesn't try to articulate any of it. He just takes a breath, and decides.

"I dreamt," he begins, voice soft and almost inaudible as the words slip out into the air, thin and hesitant. "When I was _―_ asleep, I was dreaming the whole time. I met _―_ " his breath catches, memories of yesterday's Rins flooding back. "A lot of Rins. Different Rins."

He stops, knuckles white around his blankets, and dares to raise his head.

Haruka looks at him, waiting.

It makes it easier to breathe.

So he begins, his words quiet with the slightest sense of reverence sneaking into his tone as he recalls memories that shouldn't be his own. He speaks, haltingly, of a Rin who visits him in time for his birthday, a Rin who sent him letters from Australia and another Rin who never sent the letters he'd written. He remembers, how each and every one of them had loved, some quietly and some loudly, some contentedly and some childishly, but always, always him.

And his voice grows steadier, his words stumbling out smoother and faster, his smile comes easier, as he reminisces the memories that aren't his. He tells Haruka things that might have been, things that could have been; of silly theories like alternate universes and parallel worlds and multiverse. He flushes at the memory of Rin's face drawing closer, of Rin's breath against his neck, of his lips against Rin's forehead.

He tells Haruka all of them, anyway, and hopes that his Haruka, too, would believe. 

But when the short recounting is over, when he has no more memories that aren't his to tell, his voice grows softer again, much quieter.

"He loved me," he can't quite hide the envy, the longing. His lips twists into a bitter smile, shoulders slumping forwards. "In each of those worlds _―_ each of these Rin that I met _―_ he loved me."

Haruka reaches out, fingers clasping around Makoto's wrist, and holds on. It grounds him, somewhat, and Makoto gives him a thankful smile.

Haruka believes. 

"That's why you've been avoiding Rin, lately." 

"It's just hard," he looks down, back to the blankets he's twisting under his fingers. "To look at him and _―_ and remember how it felt to..." something in his chest seizes. He has to pause to breathe through it. "To be loved, by Rin."

"Makoto..." Haruka whispers. 

Makoto closes his eyes. "It's not that I don't want to wake up, but _―_ "

"Don't," Haruka says, sharply. His grip on Makoto's wrist tightens almost painfully. "Don't."

Makoto looks up, looks at him. Looks at the terror that flashes across Haruka's face, and feels horrible. "Haru, it's not _―_ "

"Even for these _―_ " Haruka cuts him off, voice on edge. "Even for these feelings, if you don't wake up, I won't forgive you."

For a moment, Makoto forgets to breathe. For a moment, he stays, mouth open, staring at Haruka and the tensed look in his blue, blue eyes, and then something in his chest just  _gives_.

"Yeah," his lips curve up, into a small smile. "Yeah. I'm sorry, Haru." 

**\-----o0o------**

He steps out of Makoto's room, closes the door behind him, and nearly has a heart attack when he sees Rin leaning on the wall by the door.

"Rin," he says, doesn't let more than a moment of surprise flitting through his face. He takes a breath, takes in the way Rin stares blankly at the sterile white walls, and swallows. "How long have you _―_ "

Rin laughs, the sound bitter as it echoes through the hallway, ringing with painful regret.

"I was planning to tell him," he's never heard Rin like this _―_ so quiet, so resigned. He watches Rin's shoulders slouch, watches the way Rin's smile turns into a self-mocking twist of his lips. "I swear I was. Skype isn't the best way to do it, but I was going to tell him. That I'll be coming back. That I want him to wait for me."

Rin breathes, low and even.

"That I'm in love _―_ "

The last syllable breaks into a juddering breath, ripped out of Rin's throat, breaking at the edges.

Haruka stares, an obvious silent order for Rin to confess anyway. But Rin glances back at Makoto's door, eyes sad.

"He looked so in love, when he told you everything."

"With you," Haruka points out, and Rin chuckles bitterly. "Just confess already."

"I wonder if I should, now," Rin murmurs. "When I'm not sure it's me he's in love with, anymore."

That brings his brain to a halt. Haruka frowns, turns to Rin and levels him an incredulous look. "What." 

"Is he in love with me?" Rin questions, and Haruka thinks he actually sounds scared. "Or is he in love with those other Rins _―_ those he met, those he dreamt of?" 

Silence stretches, heavy and oppressive. Haruka lets his gaze falls to the floor, lets it trace the lines on the white ceramics, follows the light that reflects off its surface. He remembers Makoto's soft voice, remembers how in love Makoto sounded when he'd talked about each and every Rin. 

Remembers _it's not like I don't want to wake up―_

"I wonder," he murmurs.

**\-----o0o------**

On the tenth day after he woke up, Makoto is moved to the normal public ward.

There are three other patients sharing the ward with him, each bed separated with a mere pull of white curtain. There's a fresh vase of red roses by the window, right next to where an old lady whose arm is in a sling but has the loudest laughter out of everyone in the room rests. The roses themselves belong to the grandpa whose bed is next to Makoto's, who also has cookies and snacks heaping on his bedside table courtesy to his grandchildren who visit him almost every day.

The other old lady, who has a huge cat pillow resting on her lap when Makoto settles into his bed, says, "Oh, finally, we get someone who is so pleasing to the eyes."

Makoto flushes beet red. The old lady by the window laughs a booming laugh that reminds him of Mikoshiba Seijuurou's laugh. "What's your name, boy?"

"Makoto," he stammers. "Tachibana... Makoto."

"Makoto-kun!" the grandpa beams, and offers him a melon bread. "Welcome to our sanctuary!"

Amongst the sense of bewilderment as he accepts the melon bread, Makoto recognizes the slightest feeling of relief. It's lively, a nice change from the silence that is his own room for the past week, and somehow, he feels like it grounds him a little bit.

He isn't dreaming anymore. He needs to stop wondering if tomorrow's Rin would be different, if tomorrow's Rin would be one of the Rins who loves him, even if it's not  _him_  that they love.

It will take time, Makoto thinks, but he'll forget it.

He has to.

**\-----o0o------**

There's something about the way Makoto looks at him _―_ or through him, Rin thinks with a sinking realization _―_ that irritates him to no end.

"Here."

The clear water in the glass swirls as Rin bumps it against Makoto's shoulder. He could see the second where Makoto starts, like he's being snapped back into reality, into the present. Then the smile comes, strained, too hesitant _―_ and Rin has to swallow the burst of anger licking up his throat.

"Ah," long fingers curling around the glass, taking a firm hold. At least Makoto's been regaining more and more of his strength, lately. "Thank you, Rin." 

Rin watches Makoto's forefingers fidget on the base of the glass, watches them tangle and untangle, over and over. Watches Makoto stare at it _―_ through it _―_ like he's seeing something else completely, something that no one else could see. 

Like he isn't really here.

Rin swallows the sudden spike of fear clawing on the back of his throat.

"It snowed last night," he says carefully, voice lilting in a way that usually would prompt Makoto to respond. To reply. But Makoto doesn't even blink _―_ just stares at the water, eyes soft but his smile absent, and Rin hates it. Hates that Makoto feels so far away, even though he's there, right in front of him, awake,  _alive_. 

Not answering.

He tries again. "It probably piled up outside. The snow." 

Ever-so-slowly, Makoto blinks, and throws a glance towards the window. Rin dares to hope, and quickly adds, "You were asleep though."

Wrong thing to say _―_ Makoto flinches, sharply, and Rin cringes.

"Mm," is the only vague answer Rin gets, though. It sends another flicker of irritation through him _―why is he not looking at me, why is he not here, why won't he stop, god._  The silence stretches, awkward and pressing, and Rin hates it.

He hates how hard it is just to stay by Makoto's side now, when it used to be so easy. 

"You know," he says, tries to be as casual as he can manage. "I could just not come, if you don't want me to come visit anymore."

It's a cruel thing to say, he knows. He expects the flinch, expects the snap of Makoto's head, wide eyes finding Rin's with a sharp gasp. "What?" the word wobbles in the air. "No, Rin _―_ what makes you think _―_ "

He's had enough of this, Rin decides. He's not having this hide-and-seek anymore, not with Makoto.

"Because you seem sad," Rin says, keeping his voice even and matter-of-fact. "Like I'm not the one you wish were here, now."

There's a longer silence this time, hanging heavy in the sterile air, broken only by the noises of the other occupants of the ward. Makoto's frozen, knuckles going white as he clutches the glass in his hands, teeth worrying his lower lip. Rin lets him; lets the silence press, lets the realization sink.

Then finally, finally, in a voice so tiny it's almost inaudible, half-embarrassed and half-mortified, Makoto mutters, "you knew."

No point in beating around the bush. "I heard you talking to Haru the other day."

He hears Makoto breathe _―_ in and out, in and out _―_ hears the way it shakes at each exhale, and Rin waits. 

Except then Makoto just says, "Oh," and nothing else.

And just like that, the irritation comes back full force, and Rin stands up abruptly, sending his chair clattering to the floor. He ignores the sudden silence it brings to the room, ignores the way the old lady's laughter is cut off into nothing in a split-second, and turns away.

He needs to leave. He needs to go, before the anger gets the better of him, before he shakes Makoto and demands him to stay here, to stop looking at the dreams he left behind, to _―_

"Rin _―_ "

His name, thin and thready. Rin exhales, doesn't even try to hide the huff, and stomps out of the room. 

He doesn't turn around to see the way Makoto's face crumples.

**\-----o0o------**

There were kisses he couldn't return, because he thought they weren't his to have. 

There was laughter he couldn't join in on, because he couldn't remember a memory that was never his.

There were I-love-yous he couldn't say _―_ never got to say _―_ to all those Rins that he met, because he didn't have the right, because he couldn't just say those back when he wasn't the one those words were directed to, and _―_  

Makoto feels the back of his eyes burn, feels his throat closing up. He thinks of his own I-love-you he wouldn't get to say, not here and not to his Rin, because of course, of course Rin is not interested in him. 

_Today's Rin―_

The door bangs, drawing out the yelps of three elderly citizens in the ward, and Makoto nearly throws the glass off his hand. His head snaps up, eyes wide as they turn to the door, locked onto Rin's figure, standing tall as he looks back at Makoto.

Makoto scoots back. "Um." 

Rin heaves a harsh breath, head hanging for a moment, before he raises it up again and narrows his eyes at Makoto, then, looking thoroughly fed-up and angry, announces, "Fuck this."

― _doesn't love him back._

"Language," says one of the grandmas, the frown clear in her voice, but Rin ignores her, striding back into the room and straight towards Makoto's side. Makoto makes a high-pitched sound on the back of his throat, scrambling backwards, but Rin snatches his hands and pries the glass off, setting it gently aside, and refusing to let go.

"I don't want you to love all those other Rins," he says, and Makoto's brain screeches into a halt. He blinks, wide-eyed, and Rin holds his gaze, earnest and straight-forward as he always is, seizing Makoto's whole attention, Makoto's whole being. "I want you to be here. Here, and looking at me."

His breath catches.

_Today's Rin―_

"Just _―_ me, Makoto."

Makoto stares, bewildered, at the faint smile that curves up Rin's lips, almost frightened to hope. "...Rin...?"

"I love you," Rin says, leaning forward, and his forehead comes to a rest on Makoto's shoulder, the full weight almost a surprise on Makoto's arm. Rin breathes, slowly, fingers still tight around Makoto's own, like he's the one who needs support, like he's the one who needs Makoto to ground him. "I have been in love with you. For some time now."

And the room bursts into claps and catcalls, shockingly loud as the other three occupants of the room cheer despite their supposedly weaker health and older age. Makoto blinks, and blinks some more, unable to parse anything through his brain because _is he still dreaming?, is this another world where Rin loves him back?, is this―?_

― _loves him back._

"Hey," Rin whispers into his collarbone, "let's go out for a movie, when you're all better."

"I'm _―_ " Makoto says, completely at loss for words, and Rin chuckles, and maybe Makoto doesn't need to answer because the way he's shaking, gripping Rin's arms is enough of an answer.

He tilts his head, trembling as he brushes his lips against Rin's ear, and remembers doing the same in the dream. "Yes. Yes, Rin. Yes."

**\-----o0o------**

The grandpa who is next to Makoto's bed gives him his fruits basket and says, "Young love! Congratulations!"

Rin smothers his laugh behind Makoto's nape, and Makoto flushes as he receives the fruits basket and says thank you. He looks up to see Haruka entering the room, smiling ever-so-slightly, and says, "thank you" again.

Haruka shrugs, dragging the chair next to Rin, whose face is still completely buried against Makoto's shoulder. "I told you."

Makoto chuckles, because it's true. Then he takes a deep breath, nudges Rin with his chin so the redhead would look up, and smiles, because Makoto wants to do this properly.

This is his. Where he belongs. This is his right.

"I love you, Rin."

**\------o0o------**

**Author's Note:**

> We got lazy thinking up different possible AUs for this fic so we resorted to throw in already-existing AU fics of ours. There are three, if you could find them all, you win our hearts ww
> 
> ☆[This AU was A Mistake aka Youkai AU series](http://archiveofourown.org/series/296375)  
> ★[Five Things Rin Never Did (with Makoto)](http://archiveofourown.org/works/930193)  
> ☆[Flowers are Too Much of A Hassle (but if you liked it, okay then) aka flower shop AU](http://archiveofourown.org/works/1016492)
> 
>  
> 
>  
> 
> Also shout out to [Nack](https://twitter.com/Mixedsnack)  
> for the illustration in the beginning! She drew the cover for the  
> print version of this fic and it really is a waste for something so  
> lovely not be released into the wild laughs. And to mosaicos as well  
> for proofreading this monster you are a treasure, the most precious.


End file.
